shapes

by DB Cox

back from iraq
with stories to tell
distorted dream shots
captured in sensaround
brutal
disjointed
scenes streaming
in vivid
heartbreaking detail--
but as silence
walks him down
easy hometown streets
past sunday night
living rooms
lit by wide-screen TVs
overlaid with
bought-&-paid-for
prophets taking back
old american promises--
the tales die
inside his heart--
recollections that burned
blood-red in the dark
gone cold
as the ghosts
who breathed them--
& he begins
to comprehend
how these shapes
carved into his soul
are only empty outlines
forever shackled
to another place
another time