One two three,
ONE two three —
one, two, three…

cannot escape
the rhythm — one,
two, three…

Close my eyes:
still there. Even though
I am tired of it.

Even though I know
there are others,
myriad others;

one two three
ONE two three —
all in my stomach

till I’m starving
for more — march time,
a two step —

all I get is a cursed march;
one two three ONE
two three —

almost a forced step,
almost a procession
armed to the teeth,

soldiers all of them.
All of them — did I mention
marchers, paraders,

people in timed cadence
walking toward an edge?
One, two, three, ONE

two three — they are mostly
not me, not anyone I
consciously know

except through suspicion.
I detect the march where
there isn’t one or perhaps

there is? One two three
ONE two three. Close
my eyes and see them

marching, lock step
toward the edge of things.
Toward the place of

fires. One two three,
ONE two three — world
goes along, trees

sway along — is there
a war worth marching to
or not? We are

the unwitting butchers
set to chop and we
don’t even know,

as long as we do it
in concert with others
and can do it quietly

enough — in cadence,
in step — one two three
ONE two three…

and in silence, I
march along; unknowing,
I march along;

hard butcher, unwilling;
in lock step but marching
desperately; one two three

ONE two three…

————-
onward,
T