Localized war heroes
waving trumpets
and the velocity
of kings
do not lie under oath
of government
lie still like localized war heroes
buried at the gas station
next to the gum.

What happens when
the sun sets
on the sunsets
after the privilege
of watermelon
eyesight like tequila
flowers that burn
my peaceful world
and the subservient president
minding his own.

Down the street
the children were playing video games
in the front yard
of the home of the localized war hero.

I wrote the date
before it was written
and I play with
the flowers and the leaves of grass
from the silence
of my studio
where I am studious of myself.

Next to the dead
of my afternoon
I ask the evening to lie still
and stop the electricity
I carry
the power lines
and lightning

like pistols
and no one
has much to say
because I am me
me am not still
next to the radio
and the doubt of the dead
with the painted mask.

One painted mask
was a candle burning
drink
that burns in silence
growing sunlight –
let me be close to the thing

And then there were streetlights, newscasts,
and localized war heroes.
Several paintings
and a pencil
and a brick
and a polite death
push me
push me.

I am disappearing like fog light
next to the flame
the window
is jumping
and I am
close to where
the dog
lays down.

I have seen people and things
go near to death
and then return
burning candles
and laughing
at the life of the sun.

(8.19.2010)