in that skeleton of screaming metal

robbed you of the dignity

of charring in that rabid, frothing war,

or the morbid beauty

of lying with your yellow tongue staring

at the cieling

of the French foreign legion barracks

as the radio played fine memories.

But I guess we can't all die singing arias through blood,

or sleeping with the white-clattering-smile

bones of the ones we love.