Will it occur
In one of these torsos of metal and glass,
Winged fins and eye-sockets for lamps.
Guileful and crass;
Invisible air drifts to give him an expression,
Thumb motioning for a distance,
Thumb up towards the night.
An old moon taking up space
Scooting to rest behind an ominous cloud;
Dark planet moving and rubbing on the light.
Hood ornament nosing for a stop:
Rubber mats, whitewalls;
How will your night play out in thin air?
A heart loses itself, emptied into a wish.
A smile fell on the pavement,
Sat empty, unredeemed;
Your gesture flaked off in a shriek.
Spirals of hot bullets traveling
By the shooter’s annihilation,
Globes of red spilling from a vein.
Small breath, smell of death.
Red earth and wooden coffin;
Their flesh and the glory forever.
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