NEW POETRY:

Where I am Weak

In a dusty field
In my mind
I kneel down in slow-mo
The great army
Follows suit in a panning
Slow cascade.
Rows of soldiers on their knees
The wind moves
Dust flies as I arise
The army jumps
And I, at the head of it
Would rather die
Here, a sword through my heart--
Than in the future
Where I am weak.