Am I still fighting for some feral victory in Vietnam?
—stubborn Achilles who won’t give up,
no matter the gimp in my brain.
the crazy, dead-end jobs
with their small wages
and cheap dreams
anger, rage, faceless resentments,
grandiose impatience, and,
of course, the suicide daydreams.
They tell me—my shrinks do—
I’m lucky I have no taste for
alcohol and drugs.
For me, insobriety yields no joy:
I only crave my mind and soul caress again.
Stubborn Achilles who won’t give up.