A Missing Picture

We are posed, at Fort Bragg, ready to leave; certified fit for combat.
I don’t know any of these people now, not that I knew them much back then, our summer of blood.
I never kept in touch. Never felt that touched. Never felt connected to war, to warriors, to that band of others.
What I have is an old color photograph, made by the base photographer. One group picture of thousands made, stored. Some may be displayed in a case alongside a folded flag, maybe a box with a medal. Mine has traveled and nagged me for too many years. Of all the things I’ve lost. All the things I’ve tossed out or left behind, I don’t know why, what weak part of me, keeps this fading picture, still in its rubber stamped folder.
Evidence, of what, for whom…. maybe me, maybe not.

9.1.11

when america lost .
what america lost was america.
america lost its war on 9/12/01.
on 9/11 it lost some buildings planes and people. it found a voice, but it lost its message when little G took the laborers’ platform.
walk around in big towns and you will be watched, not by a brother, but by big brother. our borders are patrolled 30 miles from the brown town borders of our South west states. Your neighbors are watching, not in help, but in fear. This is a war zone, hear. We live among the televised dead the plastic corpses of cop dramas heros as killers of mass murders. AND
It will never stop. The dead men have won this war. The men from those hills those caves those poppy fields that flower more after the M corps cleared them. Not the plastic poppy of memorial days not the oil based flower but the oil giving flowers those are the fields. AND
It will never stop. UNLESS

The Bridges

katrina bridge &

Iraq bridge….

unarmed families die because police & soldiers with guns are too afraid to look, to understand what they see.

[danziger bridge. not justifiable. they were not acting as police, they were acting as vigilante]