I've Been Writing About Angels

the backyard is full of trains heavier than air
moving speeds without time
screeching new fears from new mouths
in a vacuum of gravity stealing my breath
and singing it back in songs across the fence

self-destruction from the stump of a dead fire ring
reading graffiti with urgent leisure looking for
the colorful wisdom that floats your gut for the rest of your life
like expeditionary banners in bathroom stalls
for a good time call…
everyone on Kunsan knows that
John Wayne died for our sins

letters home on fugitive stationery
from angels on the rail bleeding out aerosols in beauty marks
against the industrial service scars of America
and we all sleep unsettled
and I am scared five times a day being reminded of my heartbeat
thrumming on the ground with Sal out west
becoming the sunset in a
desert I haven’t seen