Holy Ghosts

Whatever I am,

whatever particular brand of bent,

I am few and far between.

I used to think I was evil—

I prepared myself in a child's idea of evil arts:

violence, magic, and song.

Strange, the naïve evils we choose.

One I met thought we were sociopaths.

We were violent, true,

but in a sporting way.

For us, violence was a game—

serious, but worthy fun.

I think we didn't understand violence.

We were numb to our deeper selves,

we could hear,

but could not translate.

Not until later.

External reference was little aid—

a limited frame of petty shuffles

and fiction.

We had no sense of the scale of it.

He went to join the marines,

to understand what it felt like

to kill a person.

It killed him.