Excalibur’s Outreach Program


On move-in day maybe John Steinbeck

would have understood my so stationary

posture in front of the ‘Camelot’ housing

project sign as if it were a more manageable

sized mural like the A Few Good Men metal

recruiting poster adjacent to our local post



unable to repudiate the government advertising

unable to summon a two man chainsaw team

unable, scars later, to not parachute down atop

two Kansas City drug dealers stalking me under

an abandoned train tower displeased that I’d

declined their offer to market smokable herbs


unable to shake off the blood stripe street past

before I ever stood still on the yellow footprints


Internal Amphibious Assault


Before I could tell the

drill instructor that I

didn’t want any boot

camp inscription-dents

in my nose, he brought

down his starched hat-

brim, so I had to tell

an investigating Series

Commander that the

flattened campaign

cover still had a hat

cord that would make

a fine garroting wire

for the next time I

encountered striped

military machismo




mice to mouth

villagers rocking the fly

sprayed by child merc



Eradication Vapor


New world war

magician morphed

to bloody bullet

forceps sliding

down an old

M-60 barrel like

a cleaning rod

bringing out a

field embalming

machine as the

TV audience



from behind

screen glass

splash guard

safer than

funeral parlor






            Hot Brass Burn


It was so insignificant, just

a 5.56 millimeter shell casing

ejecting, lodging between my helmet

and right cheek. Attaching itself like

a mad biting bug that kept swallowing

incinerated face meat. Finally issuing

me a second cheek scar, so that each

time I observe it during self-reflection

or a daily shave-I really see a vast portal

to the world where kids battle it out

inside the cargo pockets of history as

the antiquated arming switch for elite

economics flips on like a black light

bulb throwing 200 watts, and that hot

brass burn is still everywhere even inside

a submarine burrowing ashore like a

sand shark devouring beach life or

inside the big ghost battleship graveyards

still docking quietly inside my cells as

the IED explode into our service youth

while civilians continue to get killed and

over 21 thousand plus global terrorist

attacks since September 11, 2001 finally

brought home to the Boston Marathon

Bombings tragically starting it all anew

And I still hear a little boy’s voice from

Manchester Elementary School playground

yard in 1970 telling me that they kill kids

at Boonville Boys Home as I couldn’t do

anything then and another judge smacks

his gavel and de-jails a teen telling him

there’s opportunity in the service as

Juvenile Court Judge Mark Ciavarella

begins his light stay 28 year sentence

for kids to cash incarcerations that

may lead some future parolee to the

nurturing boot camp blankets waiting

just beyond an undetermined release, so

go ahead and roll down your pillow

windows and let the dreams-n-daymares

back in as taps rolls on with eternity


Fubito Ito - Tool
Fubito Ito – Tool






black dot blender

turning the blades to ten

young goth juice junkie



skirt lifting times

tired sewing shop women

hem high London



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