Viking Funeral

from by Sherman to the Fucking Sea



Retreat, if it's possible.

We're caught with our backs to the sea.
Outgunned, outnumbered, outrun.

The devil awaits the soul of a coward.
So find your fire and drag a Yank along with you.

I'll be your prisoner when the ocean behind me
opens like the mouth of God and breathes me into its lungs.

Prepare a vessel of tinder and an archer on the shore.
Give this soldier a send-off worthy of a warrior.

There is no glory for the meek.
No stories told of the forgiving.

Let the sky come alive
with red lights as flames
carve a glowing arc to my grave.

I'll rest in peace knowing I've made
widows of widows' tormentors.
Christ curse your heart, Sherman.

My final moment will be the cast iron sculpture of hate.
You killed my cousin's wife. I'll die trying to get to your throat.

You can follow our rancor along an infinite vector
burning through progeny.
My grandson's grandsons will curse your name.

Goddamn leadership. Goddamn the memoirs.
I'll die with your veins in my teeth.
Knife your daughter in her sleep.


from The Lost Army, released January 14, 2011



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