will spray poison
into the corners of the room:
We will live within its odor,
the roaches' blood becoming dust in our walls,
and we will listen to the light bodies fall.
LINES WRIT IN THE COMBAT ZONE
the war in the mountains was won
by simple mobility.
high trails are narrow
where tanks can't go.
can you move?
scatter through the rocks.
get down. hmmmmmm.
I love your warm breath.
cannons could never follow us
here
we carry our provisions with us
in our heads
(the necessities we find
more difficult to secure--
move.
where does life end
death begin?)
like a tribe of Bedouins
we pitch our tents at dusk.
Susan Grathwohl
the sun rose on an empty meadow
descends now behind campfires, a city
made of colored cloth .
there is dancing and music.
