Not Enough Bullets



Knife-cold bones, refrigerator white
skeleton gets out of the car
saunters toward me
the fog of tar black thoughts
spilling from his skull
moonlight through a broken window
squeezes narrow his little stray-dog eyes
and says to me
Nothingness is symmetrical, man
but I’m not convinced
so he jitters a jagged-bone jig
to prove he’s dead
and seen the other side
wherein he knows of what he speaks
and through a bolt of black bone holes
indented in a saw toothed smile
adds, Know what I mean?
But I don’t
so he says
One part’s exactly the same as any other
and I wonder why he’s telling me this
because the dead don’t often speak to me
except once before
when from our fever-twisted sheets
you looked up  
and said I know you wish I were dead you bastard
but even if you wanted to
you couldn’t kill me because I am already
thanks to you
and no matter how much you want to
you can’t kill me twice you bastard.

Not enough bullets.



Appeared in Third Wednesday, 2012

No comments:

Post a Comment