the ghosts on the range- (wander)
mists- on the edge of our perception
remnants of a traumatic pause,
left to dwell-
half a foot in this world-
and see the jubilant sparks
the smoke explosions in the air
the wonder of blossoms of colored fire
blaring noise might awake-
the ghosts on the range,
lest we forget their mortal lock
and ours-
so removed from the grim fate (for now)
to set ablaze trinkets
in celebration of their deeds
or for which the cause they bled
do we honor the dead
with these
I ask- (wonder)
the ghosts on the range,
trapped forever in that repeating reel
a short film frame flash bang shot
wandering for all time
watching nations rise and fall
in the honor of this all-
the explosions expositions up in the air
might re-of-mind
the brutal horrors of those who fell
or their loved ones who missed them well (after)
I wonder what they might think
if they were more than apparitions?
glimpses of the ones that were (dusty mirrors)-
the spectacle of raining sparks
to mark, the time and honor for which they fought, and gone,
I wonder- (and so they wander on)
the ghosts- on the range.

I must also repeat for anyone new (waving at you, wave back, or not, be rude…) I work off the cuff, I carve the thing and throw it into the world… this is my hobby, my art, a thing I do because the world has instilled it in my DNA, or some muse has their way with me for as long as I can recall, so I decided to just share what I do, naturally, I have a very specific voice, maybe insular, because I write for me… and have been for years, but that does not exclude or preclude the thought of others, any comments, thoughts or questions are cool by me… even if you think I suck, that’s fine, really, I have been doing this long enough where I am not worried about response, if I get it…. awesome, if not, that’s cool too, we are all so many things of so many things that maybe my sparks only light fires in certain parts… and that is cool.. be it one pair of eyes or nine… I thank any and all of you for your time if your stopped by.