Somewhere North (Fall ’70)

Somewhere North of yesterday
It all hung out of me,
a bit of gut,
a bloodied bone,
a twist of tendon,
striated pink interior structures
Just dripped from a flap
In my bruised blue skin,
20 years of age
without passion
without rage
in my fashion
as a soldier
in a stream
as a flower
in a dream
I died.