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Literature Text
It is too easy
to shoot a gun—
squeeze, pull back,
push forward, and
repeat as desired.
It is too easy
to watch the sky split
into frayed canvas strips
and hear the crack
ripple through the canyon
like the pond after a pebble.
It is too easy
to send the same bullet
into the gut of the father
shooting pellets with his son
and watch the blood pour
like wine into a stemmed glass.
It is too easy
to shoot a gun
and feel nothing
except contentment
to watch your bullet
sail towards the sun.
It is far too easy.
to shoot a gun—
squeeze, pull back,
push forward, and
repeat as desired.
It is too easy
to watch the sky split
into frayed canvas strips
and hear the crack
ripple through the canyon
like the pond after a pebble.
It is too easy
to send the same bullet
into the gut of the father
shooting pellets with his son
and watch the blood pour
like wine into a stemmed glass.
It is too easy
to shoot a gun
and feel nothing
except contentment
to watch your bullet
sail towards the sun.
It is far too easy.
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Literature
bullets in a shot glass
Again the archers are aching,
again their bones are breaking
like the cracks in the Colosseum.
Death does not defend
eager-eyed
fighters; he does not fulfill
godly goals of
heaven and halos.
I am inverted, introverted,
a jester jeering
at kids who kiss
like life is long enough to fall in love.
my mouth is a machine,
a new nightfall
ordering our soldiers out
into pits where they pray for peace.
the quirks of our
ridiculous readings rule us,
sand us into sculptures
thin and tall, trembling.
our universe is built on uncertainty
and vicious virtues
written by long-dead warriors who
expected to live forever, and
I do not yield to your
well
Literature
motionless
there aren't words in the English language
to properly describe this loss. blackness.
blink out. fade out. go out. not
with a bang, but a whimper, your
thoughts won't unknot
from my own, i hear you in my dreams;
sleeping is my obituary for everyone
i feared--
my antithesis, i'm so fucking terrified
you were right and that some part of me
needed you for a genuine reason.
emotion is not bottomless and you
are not forever. i miss you. i miss
how easily you made me cry. stale
mornings and birds that fly the wrong
direction are nothing compared to the way
you relit the world, birthing new stars
every time you touched something
you p
Literature
suicide risk
i.
you are six shades of sadness
on a too cold, too big seat,
a shrunken apostrophe and
paroxysmal, the balls of your feet
strumming the hours gone
("i want to go home,
please, please, i just
want to go home").
ii.
it is your relief and your regret
that she knows you so well.
It is she who brings forth a doctor
then, when you are past talking-down, done,
wrung out and horse-footed in your need
("let me go home, please,
please, i just
need to go home")
iii.
softly accented words spoken off to the side:
"Yes. Let's keep her voluntary now,
it will be quicker: but if her wings sprout
and itchy feet sample corridors,
we'll make it an order."
Suggested Collections
I shot a rifle for the first time last weekend. I think the poem speaks for itself about the experience.
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Comments11
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All too easy. Excellent wordflow and description. 