We’re getting out

of here
discharging bullets

in our heads
with the one hand

torn, & bloodied
paper money nailed

to the other,
blowing the planet

to a gaping hole
in the dark expanse.
We’re getting out

of here
digging deeper

into the black veins
of the earth

now slit open wide.
We’re getting out

of here
plowing the land

with living bones,
& unearthing the stars.

Napalm hearts
& agent orange minds

scrape life from the ground
like the hot,

raspy voice
smoldering on the steel

strings of a worn
guitar as it stones

its blues away
out in the now

empty space.
We’re almost out

of here,
out of light now

out of soul

stripped of air
we’re getting out

of here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

__________________

Photo: D. MARKOSIAN, “A radioactive sign hangs on barbed wire outside a café in Pripyat”