Doc

Man, backward hodgepodge-

‘Nam’s my year, Doc

When I reckon I’m done

To just begin but Gawd

John Doe

Dog-tags, doggone

‘Nam’s my year, Doc

I gotta cock my gun

When I slink along low

In matchstick tunnels

I think-

She-it naw

Butterflies decompose

‘N when I’m assigned patrol

By the bunkers in my sleep

I like to think that

All this gangrene might

Murder us and inherit us

Like the meek

In that sleep

Dig it

‘N when it’s them Cong

Sendin’ shivers up my ass

Choppers landin’ in groves

Cuz what we get for our trouble

Cheap whores in cool thongs

What they think and muse is vogue

I turned me a vet, Doc

Twilight D-Day arrives in masquerade

At my best-

Fo’ sure

‘Nam in-at my bed-side

Gone and shucked my soul over

The DMZ

Yeah, got it made

I got myself the Good Book, Doc

Wrote notes in them margins

Tricks of the trade

Suave!

How I killed and slit throats

And flicked grenades

Remember them claymores?

Pop!

So you should care for a look

Just a peek

It shouldn’ hurt

‘Nam’s my year, Doc

Read it, my Good Book

Avoid them ham and burgers

I need a ciggy real sore

That last note in Revelations

Harum-scarum-

I’da think

Dirty ol’ secret

Tha’s not all

‘Nam ‘n the Good Book

Gawd, ya wanna look

Take it, shake it, all the secrets

Ya freak-

Still the guilt, Doc, still the guilt.