PTSD#35

On nights
when good

enough
isn't good

enough
and sadness
is a
clenched fist
and the
sound track
of my
life is
crying children
wounded Marines
all wailing
in time
to the hum
of a
wound suction
machine

I try
to get
out of
bed anyway
put on
my sneakers
and get
ready to
run because
the ghosts
are already
on the move
their point
man is
armed with
the missing
leg of a
screaming soldier

some mornings
the war
is just
a short
sprint away.