Brian Eckert

I march onto the front lines of
backroads
alleyways
suburban sidewalks
abandoned parking lots
carrying only what’s on my back

My past
a heavy burden
an intense pressure
a need to be free from
alternate versions of me

All who’ve come before me are dead
all those to come will die
But I am immortal
I stand Deathless above them
Alone
Forever

War is over?
But I don’t want it
Without war
Where would I go?
What would I do?

I’d keep walking in circles
Collapsing in on myself
Meeting strangers that are me
Waves that can’t break
Suns that can’t set
Pasts that can’t be future

Endless yous
Endless mes
Silently watching
Endlessly

God
has never forgiven
The Snake
for being able
to shed
His skin

Work from home
Fuck from home
Eat from home
Watch TV from home
Pay taxes from home
Vote from home
Walk the dog from home
Call your parents from home
Marry from home
Divorce from home
Cry from home
Scream from home
Exercise from home
Grieve from home
Celebrate from home
Get addicted from home
Recover from home
Be a celebrity from home
Be unknown from home
Consume from home
Love from home
Hate from home
Die from home

Your home is the hospital
Your home is the morgue
Your home is City Hall
Your home is the public square
Your home is a shopping mall
Your home is the post office
Your home is the bowling alley
Your home is the customer service call center
Your home is the funeral home
Your home is heaven
Your home is hell

Home sweet home
Home sweet prison
My home is my sanctuary
From my home
Take me home
I’m already there
Waiting to go home
Home, my
Home away from home

Today is
another chance
to sharpen my teeth
and flatten my bones and
walk across the broken glass of my ego and
be someone I’m not
for your sake, for
God’s sake, but not
for myself,
for goodness sake.
That is not allowed. That kind of talk gets you the
Death sentence.
Again.
Let me start over.

The First Day of Summer is the
Anniversary of the day God
emptied all the prisons and the schools and let all
Hell break loose.

Who goes there, in the brown shoes?
Who goes there, in your black boots?
Who goes there now, Brown Cow?

I used to dream of long summer days and freedom.
Now the only freedom I know is in
nostalgia.

We carry on as half-light
growing steadily more fearful
not only of Death
but of Life.