Black Heart Soldiers

Tangled foliage
just like back in Saigon, man.
Slice the leaf with a razor
and the consistency of its milky dew
will be upon you,
like the sneeze of an Ogre.

The commando whose
innards are no longer fed
with light will smoke this mess
in a few days,
and get high.

He is the original black heart soldier.
So familiar with conflict
&; with dragging himself through the
mud,
that light can no longer penetrate his chest.
And the once rosy red, healthy heart
of the warrior
has become dead, noir.

The Amazon
is where he reigns, slick as stealth.
Muddy walls ripple
to reveal white peepers
and a knife big enough to
see your fat distorted body reflected
in the blade,
like this jungle is some gruesome
funhouse
or carnival of mirrors.

The Amazon
is a wet blanket to him.
It wraps him up
and stops him being free
though I am here because I believe
he still wants to be.

My mobile rings:
"I'm lying in the jungle honey
trying to get an interview with the black
heart solider
for ABC news.

..but my mind is filled with
paranoid visions
of perfect blue buildings
and untold rage
where new soul killers
with timeless faces
march along the cutting edge
of theaterwide biotoxic and chemical
warfare in a knife-edge parade."

He heard the theme to Indiana Jones
like a call to arms from my mobile
phone.
And I was still making kissing sounds
when the pounding feet came to rest by my ears
and the steel depicted for me,
my own stupidity.