Michael Comstock

LOVE, YR EXILED SON

Dear Mom,

Where I am the sky

is not. Away

awhile, I will be

back, be back in

proper terrified style.

Camo. Flags. Guns.

Skulls. Skulls. Skulls.

*

Dear Mom,

By night jets break

through sound

towards light with—

in the world

above. By day?

Alone. Alone

by day by day

by day.

*

Dear Mom,

How's Dad?

Wait. Don't

tell me: dead.

Dad's dead.

Congrats.

PS JK

*

Dear Mom,

I am confused

and frightened.

What will be

there when

I arrive?

What is there

now or ever

was there?

*

Dear Mom,

"Snow" "doesn't"

"exist." "Love"

"doesn't" "exist."

"Codes" "are"

"all" "we" "have."

*

Dear Mom,

"To sit back

hoping that someday,

someway, someone

will make things

right is to go on

feeding the croc—

odile, hoping

he will eat you

last—but eat you

he will."—Ronald

Reagan

*

Dear Mom,

Man to me is no

more than mist.

No. Man is post—mist,

the bad itch mist

makes on the skin

when it dies.

I mean dries.

*

Dear Mom,

"I want you to be

concerned about

your next—door

neighbor. Do you

know your next—

door neighbor?"

—Mother Teresa

Translation: Watch out!

*

Dear Mom,

I can't

I won't

I shan't

relent

*

Dear Mom,

Retract can't

won't shan't.

Retract relent.

Or insert might

before relent.

I am making

no promises.

*

Dear Mom,

Do you get these

letters. Does

the censor

scrub them.

Does the military

junta permit

crying. Do you

cry. Does it

get you

down. Does

anything help.

Do I write

these letters.

Do I ever.