Kandahar



I wish the snow and cold might come so I

can feel fiery young and smoke again



with abandon, surveying with my inherited colonial

eyes the Merrimack river, and feel renewed



in dreams I've yet to part with and with dreams

I might yet love (I place my palm upon



her soft cheek gently in her sleep). I wish this

night was long as all the days I've wasted



drunk, fucked up, scared, alone etc.



Finding nights within such compass may

save me from a stupid fate. Meanwhile,



the talk on T.V. tonight here is gunfire,

Kandahar, Afghanistan, cigarettes smoked in dust,



Shit. And what a fucking shame about

this boy. And it is a fucking shame,



this fifteen-year-old Afghan boy lives

and dreams of peace, oh shit, oh shit



oh shit