incohate

had to turn it off the peeping
into bits of stories embedded
planted in my head blooming
 red flowers under gunfire.

it's not so much the stories they wash off with hot water and soap. it's the sounds that won't stop, even late at night.high pitched nicotine stains. rabid teeth. choleric rock fisted monuments. the moon slices my abdomen, wailing ants escape. sarin gas sings soliloquies from a  vape. i keephearng his face, the one i won't listen to, disintegrating like a flock of geese come hunting season.

scurrilous inuendows

she  hears tranny like it's a  gang rape
he wears tranny like a badge
somehow we all gotta fit in this space
a spectrum's all we have.

when the clothing feels wrong
is it wrong to change it?
what else is skin but color and size?
and if

 there's power in word
it must be we  who gave it
there's nothing else to keep it alive.

the deconfliction line

Russia sent
 the regime of proxy aircraft
 and special ops.

 attacking  an accidental confrontation
 mitigates the danger.

 Russia swallowed
took a step that  could not legally expand.

 mission creep emerges
 on the opposite side
 worried that it looks
too much like
 a de facto.  imperial

bilateral military-to-military is real,
even with the deconfliction channel  open.