from Blood Chit Man

Mark Yakich

Broadcasting rules dictate that you won’t see my dead body not the right leg coddling the face not the left eye slung‐shot from the head lying like a squashed date in the sand If you lose an eye you lose only one‐fifth of your vision but all of your sense of death I mean depth Fuck it The goddamn medivac never drives fast enough And the flak jacket only attracts attention That’s what wife said the last time we talked So for god’s sake don’t wear it Well it wasn’t anybody’s fault I wasn’t on TV The ten pints of blood took twenty minutes to leave me No one can hold a selfie that long


My jaw’s broken My skull holds three bullets My buddy keeps one of my toenails because it got blown into his cheek And nobody seems to mind that I wear wife’s garter around my testes I have nothing to do but lay here and look out at that desert there It’s like a pasture part past and part future there’s no present that’s not in the looking or the looking after


I am now one inch square in the obituary surrounded by the reality it does and doesn’t refer to Against biography there are the children I had fighting the children in my imagination Then suddenly there’s my body creamed in a ditch my penis no longer paying attention But don’t treat me like a porn star before a camera I was sad or I was happy either way I drunk too much of life no need treat me at all I return the world to its original odor Because every meadow has one rock that annoys such is the staple in the centerfold And every metal has one surface that alloys the parking at the broken parking meter This thing called “I” This thing called “you” Prose and cons Yes Wife should have guessed I got me a new lover Jesus the brother Jesus the scarecrow Jesus and his bloody split ends I lost my dog tags and I pitched my scripture Didn’t you hear? I’m going to hell because I murdered the devil