Aaron Graham

Love and War

Abiit Iam et Reverti Debet
(He has been gone for long and must once return)
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The Beauty of the Woman


The beauty of the woman is behind her touch
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And I too have stood in the grove, listening:
More an antique Roman than image of a man.
Straining, hearing only the wind: driving dust,

to Hecuba.
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1) Butt-stock high in shoulder
I) Break the hand-guard
2) Good chipmunk cheek
II) Pull the handle back
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Time is abstract, time is linear, has no form, no fixed construct.
Time refuses to lengthen for man. Within man
Between there is space to unfold time’s spirals.
Elongate seconds’ spiroid cartography to fill the void
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Adaptation, survival, ROE, COC: abstractions;
Mean nothing.
Mean what your perception finds In them.
So, mean nothing.
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The dead ones, actually death too: couldn’t interest me less
Tell the truth, I hate’em. Hate they’re still here
Stillness is chaos. This chaos was never even motion’s beauty.
Ungainly, they lay about
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The Olive Branch grew without winter’s wisdom

Though Plow-shear fingers strokd’ dead-earth: bulging.
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Saint Edmund was for England.

Saint Dennis was for France.
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The Damn Birds,

I heard them again this morning
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Baghdad Battles Beset by Bakke Bills


Some gave all, and all gave some,
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USA Yearbook -2009-

LP/OP location undisclosed
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Meditation: On Modern Deconstructionism


A stage for α κ ρ α σ ι α to hold truth’s trial,
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In the aftermath, the storm finds its rest
Ariel, still bound to his timeless post
Mouthing a demotic broken angelus.
No more can I do with language, but lust.
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We defiled the tomb that wasn’t there
Of the man who does not exist
Now he hunts me while I’m sleeping
I can feel his sightless eye’s stare
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I thought I was out, was home, that I was free.

Thought id paid my debt, to home, to god, and country.
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I’m home for good,

But I don’t go home anymore
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Moss grows on but one side of a tree.
As before- stripped by the roll of a stone-
This caldera of disquiet, alone.

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No more shall elms sleep: their ageless sentience
Slows scenes; wisdom’s eternal ecliptic
Brink of man’s mortal event horizon
Resolves: Catharsis of life’s macabre dance
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Almost to easy to cut the umbilical
rid ourselves of sprawling void’s, shaded brown,
that expand to infinity, and of Casper Mt.’s shadow
So, the first night, of our last summer, drank
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