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The next two poems are kind
of take offs on the same sort

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of a shark image.

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The first is rather military--

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analysis of the nature of a hero
and of the nature of a coward.

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And I had the notion that
both heroes and cowards

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take action in different ways.

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The hero throws himself into
it, and the coward avoids it out

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of a similar source.

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"Two hatreds of action."

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Hero compared to Jonah.

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If I were in the
belly of the whale,

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I'd praise the
peristalsis of my death

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and played the bleeding cilia.

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I felt like clapper's
of my hopes carillon.

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But once I have been
downed, I find the swimming

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hard in acids hard among the
drowned properties of sharks,

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my swallowed brothers, so
I roar with a living dead.

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Terror of peace
swallow the phrase

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because my parts will
go to feed the beast.

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Sharks and I, once we have
chewed identity to shreds

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will be leviathan,
the that which

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eats the carnivores in
combat through its bowels.

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Sleep in its body and blood I
say, that's all the stomach joy

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there is among toothed souls.

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Two for a coward.

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I won a precious I
from selfless sleep.

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The bells whistles and
alarms of dawn woke me.

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Oh, I got scared and hung
around in hell, an idyll.

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Then the flags and brass
band of the day began to fly.

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The opted I was
drafted and fell in

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behind the chest boom of
the drum or a public horse.

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I drummed with him
and marched away,

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while my true love who
gave the word to start

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ran weeping by my side.

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Fifes drilled through my years
and found my troubled brains

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coiled in the grave of
self, and reamed them

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with the shrieks
of civic cadence.

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Forward I was forced to march up
to the point of fire, but halt,

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did I win out of sleep just
to be worked and slain?

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No, or I would rather
sleep well out of uniform,

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be slapped and shouted at
by officers of the day.

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And win my death at ease,
not in the army game.

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But I say what the drum says,
boom, the fifes squeal, we.

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My brains are drummed out of
the corpse and wheeled away.

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