I believe that most of what I write are dedications. It’s always to someone known or unknown. Here’s part of a poem to an unknown soldier.
After the fighting
I come to terms
With my story
Buttery dough my mother
Feline grace my wife
That stretches me.
I wasn’t prepared in all honesty
The academy didn’t teach us this.
There was an outcry about my body
I looked on at the din
A circle of breath around my rot
Orgasms for bees and rodents
Now I am food.