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Homeward Bound



i travel home

from time to time;

a journey slag-piled

with granite memories

which requires requiem-guides

who stand curbside delivering

civil-war history;

Brady stereographs of

bleeding bodies still

stark, shocking in

contorted death



critical mass is reached

as homestead autopsy

continues with no

need to enter

the front door

no need at all.



we know the

mucous paths of

many slugs

filing over peeling paint

hanging with

wood-smoke nostalgia

curling with the

contributions of families

returning time and time again

for death’s essential element



the bullet flies

rifled and twisting

in flight

to strike core

only to find the

blood already drained.



© 12/11/01 Barton J. Breen