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Mr. Goodstick Jonathon Vann
Thunderous rotations overhead He sits in front of his wounded Brothers. A maelstrom of blades above and below flicker with fate. Blood and bandages loaded into the belly of The Beast. Grease gun lubricated liftoff, the Tiger Flies.
Years before my mother, Semper Fi was the only thing in his heart.
Desensitizing impossible as images, screams, smells flood the belly. Repressing anger at brainless heads talking infects skin and Soul. Loading victims of loading problems, guns jam like LA traffic, jungle ablaze in Orange and lead, Leaves flashing as Leaves fall Six feet.
Flying from Mountain of Marble, to Frivolous Fury, from fighting in ‘Nam, to fishing in Texas.
Shouts at the enemy converge on the children, the son. Warmth covered in cold, Masked behind the mustache. Emotions shunned, unwanted, Misunderstood. Red reaction to every occurrence. In his mind depression can be overcome, perfection is never obtained, to disagree is to betray.
Friendship a necessity and a danger. Jumping and running in the night years after. Pent up rage at all released in random spurts like storms over the desert, Rain with a popped tire, Thunder with lack of studying, Hail with a disagreement, Lightning with a misunderstanding, A Tornado spun up without Reason.
Lt. Col. retired from The Corps To Captain The Triple Seven and to Command The Household.
Consoling liquid Floods fluidity. Sanity split between two - The Jungle Warrior, and the Suburban Father. Senseless snaps like trip wires and pistoning bolts, all releasing fury.
Reasoning there, back there, over there, unreasonable.
The fan belt continues to slip, knocking the machine out of balance. Nixon as much an Enemy as Charlie.
He slips back when he should continue on.
LBJ sent LQ, he came back Mr. Goodstick, split between two Worlds, Times, Lives, Families.
------------ definately a work in progress
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