Moth

How is it that a small moth

flying around my desk lamp
Can be so distracting
one moment

that when I push it of course

And how is it
that when it is finally gone
I feel a small loss

but still a loss

Poem of War

jr paruolo
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Only the dead have seen the end of the war. - Plato
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It was a poem
of war

A dead zone
of words

twisted like strands
of barbed wire

across
no man's land

It was a poem
of war

with the shrapnel
of shattered sentences

embedded
into every page

It was a poem
of war

printed in blood
instead of ink

It was a poem
of war

A place from which
No one came home

It was a poem
of war

Written
by the dead

It was a poem
of war

a poem the living
never read