michael comstock

 

LOVE, YR EXILED SON

 

 

Dear Mom,

Where I am the sky
is not. Away
awhile, I will be
back, be back in
proper terrified style.
Camo. Flags. Guns.
Skulls. Skulls. Skulls.

*

Dear Mom,

By night jets break
through sound
towards light with—
in the world
above. By day?
Alone. Alone
by day by day
by day.

*

Dear Mom,

How’s Dad?
Wait. Don’t
tell me: dead.
Dad’s dead.
Congrats.

PS JK

*

Dear Mom,

I am confused
and frightened.
What will be
there when
I arrive?
What is there
now or ever
was there?

*

Dear Mom,

“Snow” “doesn’t”
“exist.” “Love”
“doesn’t” “exist.”
“Codes” “are”
“all” “we” “have.”

*

Dear Mom,

“To sit back
hoping that someday,
someway, someone
will make things
right is to go on
feeding the croc—
odile, hoping
he will eat you
last—but eat you
he will.”—Ronald
Reagan

*

Dear Mom,

Man to me is no
more than mist.
No. Man is post—mist,
the bad itch mist
makes on the skin
when it dies.

I mean dries.

*

Dear Mom,

“I want you to be
concerned about
your next—door
neighbor. Do you
know your next—
door neighbor?”
—Mother Teresa

Translation: Watch out!

*

Dear Mom,

I can’t
I won’t
I shan’t
relent

*

Dear Mom,

Retract can’t
won’t shan’t.
Retract relent.
Or insert might
before relent.
I am making
no promises.

*

Dear Mom,

Do you get these
letters. Does
the censor
scrub them.
Does the military
junta permit
crying. Do you
cry. Does it
get you
down. Does
anything help.
Do I write
these letters.

Do I ever.