Seven More Weeks Poem by Eric Gibson

A sick lust
Stretching past seas and cell phone receptions,
With sleepy-eyed wings of dreaming.

'Blue now is the color,
Love the drug I'm needing,
Got to keep this feeling…'

A drug with eyelashes
And a voice twisting through
Telephone wires,
Teasing an awful conflict with
Sounds of humility.

The harsh mountains guard my
Departure to her.
The callous commanders stand like
Sentinels between us.

'Seven more weeks to go, baby.'
There are creaking secrets in the
Strings of her neck
Like a bashful symphony as she
Shrugs off the savage,
Trivial charges from armies of petty
Crisis.

The number one export of Afghanistan
Is anxious wrecks and
Miserable veterans with seeds
Of detachment.

She ebbs into a tranquil caption
Of wordless charms in my mind.

She keeps me here,
There.

Seven more weeks to go.