I’ve been looking at the news for a while now, trying to find something that happened somewhere but that’s like counting the grains of gunpowder in the bullet with your name on it.
There might be one in there that isn’t going to light when the firing pin strikes, but that’s not going to slow it down any.
All that mad space on the airwaves. A dozen papers a hundred websites a thousand articles a million words.
Each one distinct and identical and individual but fired all together from a three-letter casing that tries to hide its intent. It succeeds wherever we let it and it does what a bullet is supposed to do – it makes a hole in us.
Oh my God, I just can’t do it.
I’ve been looking at the news for a while now, trying to find poetry, though I know I should have known better…