“Fundamentally the marksman aims at himself”

— Zen In The Art Of Archery



Home from the war

the only way to sleep was

to fire tracer rounds into

the figure of a faceless man


When I could no longer stomach

shattering the body of a faceless man,

the 60 caliber rounds became arrows

piercing his forehead


When I could no longer face an arrow

splitting the skull of a faceless man,

I startled an elk in night vision with a crossbow,

shook as it leapt and dropped


When I could no longer let go an airborne shaft

into the solid neck of an elegant elk,

I elevated my arrows into the limitless universe

and saw at last the face of the faceless man


 Next Poem / Published Works