I. Falling
The blow
uproots me,
a sapling
torn by wind,
ejects me
off the world,
freefalling
to a black hole
at the bottom of space.
Shock waves
reverberate
into the stratosphere.
Continents, oceans blaze.
Beggars riot in New Delhi.
Perched above the dream
on a smoking fragments,
I pack cartridges,
watch my shape
sinking:
The pale infant head,
spinning target eyes,
mouth of sparrow beak
tumbling,
clawing
anti-matter.
II. Eyes
I am followed
by hooded men
stretching rubber legs
from tree to tree
along night streets
in the old neighborhood,
hissing.
Spotlights from their eyes
crisscross the pavements,
but I pretend not to notice.
if I just stay calm and don’t run
they might call it off—
dogs bored with their own snarling.
I keep telling myself
“Turn down an alley,
crawl through a window,
wait as they slide by.”
In the streetlight
I see the barbed wire barricade.
What offense has been committed?
Why do they follow
but never attack?
“Who are you?” I shout,
“What do you want?
Give me more than echoes.”
Their light tubes converge.
I can’t run,
legs too heavy and
it’s strapped to my back
like a guitar.
I prepare for an assault
that never comes,
just one large eye
opening above the sycamores.
I climb its beam,
poke my head into a socket,
squeeze, wriggle through,
tumble
into a field of flowers.
I hear myself laughing,
“Aha…..so this is how it is,”
and float like cottonseed
on a warm wind,
inhaling
chrysanthemum,
dahlia,
orchid.
III. Machine Gun Fire
The car has no driver.
It takes the curves
at ninety-six.
Crouched in the back seat,
hands chained to ankles,
I wait for the crash.
The car fishtails
through stoplights,
railroad crossings,
striped road blocks,
plunges over
the hill’s crest
banging parked cars,
light poles, curbings,
the retaining walls,
that funnel it
into plate glass.
They stand near the pool table
under mobster hats,
chalking cue sticks,
laughing at the wreckage,
at me broken on the floor.
They are all here—
Unmasked
fathers, grandfathers,
generations of anger,
clucking tongues,
wagging fingers,
pursing lips.
I find the leather case,
unpack each carefully oiled part,
assemble it,
adjust the sling,
load, release the bolt—
chink, chunk—
tuck it under my arm,
and then I fire
scattering brain bit and bone.
Before this is over
I will kill them all,
All.