A Soldier by Robert Frost

The lance fell on the ground
the dew embalms it
how profound!

The dust blows
the ground
so much we don’t

but I know
the missiles
and missionary
position styles
ripping apart grass-ramparts
and flacid hand-darts
eye smarter?

You recepticle
body-tripper upper
I’ve fallen
on my own dagger

inter-section of point well taken
and ahh well
let’s just get out of here
and make
more men-tion