Army Poem #07: Cheshire Moon

Flat on my back, I am too filthy rich,
I count the profits of days yesterspent.
Limitless sparkling coins twinkling at me
In my sandy bed, my neck slightly bent.

Now I’m a borrower with pursed headache
Taking lease of a cheshire moon’s clowning,
Laying tonight on this cold M-16,
I feel lucky while the rest are frowning.

I gaze to see the totality of
Streams of tracer rounds that never came down,
The piercing twilight of pondering night
For Pascal, for me, the same long unknown.

As a silhouette passes me, boots crunch
Filling the foreground with soldier effect,
But for my daft fear, the cheshire moon laughs
With a haughty secret to ever be kept.

The night travels slowly without sleeping
Until a flare lights up - a dawnquake -
And rids the night of its sweet piety.
But when the flash fades, the oceanic lake

Of sky folds back under the silent night,
And the moon grins over men trained to die.
The absurdity becomes plain to me,
Thus my church; this earth. My candle; my eye.

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