The World

"i don't know, man," he quietly said
while removing the smoking cigarette
from his tired mouth.

"they were here one minute, then they were gone,
like they just disappeared and it's freaky;
this whole thing is fucked up."

light and shadows played on his face as he
shifted his eyes, looking away, yet continuing to talk.

i don't remember which sound distracted me from
his presence, but something tugged at me and i
turned.

my curiosity about the war seemed to center on
the notion that men struck and maintained friendships
that i was priviledged to witness between 1969 and
1971, all the while consumed inside the belly of a beast
which could kill them with a relentless passion or
as an idle afterthought.

he shouted
"i'm already in Hell, man, so there's nothing else these
fuckers can do to me, right?" as i walked
back
to The
World.