The Morning After Battle

Dante Novario

It could have been a weird sleepover, an extra freaky
Orgy, unfocus on the flayed guts
And spare eyeballs caking the sweet hillside, a beautiful scene
If we didn’t know about flies waking tomorrow

And licking clean their surrendered flesh, like a dedicated
Performance art piece, cherry jam spread
Unevenly across a morning banquet, skin of summer
Shades deceased and still sweating, every soul
Several dimensions removed

The bodies glow softly
Beneath the dawn air, eyes to the sky and closed
All seeing the same thing, all human despite
The persistent propaganda, touching hands
And will do so for thousands of years, never knew each other’s names
Never needed to; rotting with someone is a silent intimacy.
Stripped of lavender oils and gold-laden crests
The bodies lie more naked than naked,
Insides spilling sticky and clinging desperate to one another

Every face eventually looks kind of peaceful, no ghosts
As they are a concept for the living, looking from the sky
Down the corpses spell the name of God, they feel a caress
Of grass gentler than most lover’s arms, a breeze
Goes unnoticed. Thieves begin their slither
Outward to snatch insignias and stitched socks

Let them, let them speak with the dead boys
Called soldiers and tell them how cruel that life put you
Exactly where it wanted you with a sword
In your belly. That sword looks right

In your belly, everyone throughout the annals of history
Collectively nodding. You look good
With your slit throat, your broken jaws and elbows, you never looked
So perfect as you have today, sad soldiers, metal gnawing
At your ribs because they secretly yearned
To be together, as natural as angels, decaying

Boys, the sun will kiss your entrails the same
As it did yesterday, a few hours from now you will be digested
But let’s live in the moment, crumbling
Monuments, life ate you up and wow

So very delicious, a violent death
Means you got to feel something
Indescribable, makes the darkness so savory
You can’t help but chew down to the bone.
Lucky boys, you were born to do
Just what you did, die
And die some more

Dante Novario currently lives in Louisville, KY where he studied writing at Bellarmine University and works as a therapist with special needs individuals. He can sometimes be found selling scrolls of his poetry throughout the city. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Firewords, ANGLES, Strange Horizons, Thin Air Magazine, Still: The Journal, Ghost City, Jersey Devil Press, Neologism, The River, Dream Pop Press, Rogue Agent Journal and others.

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close