05: Vegas Lights - October 1, 2017

'A Spray' - they call it.

This peppering of metal, eroding in force and speed, changes shape;

from a hole in a window, a stone in the eye.

Bullets altogether - nature never intended for us

this way - hard against walked grass and ground,

hearts loud and syncing and the spray.

It is so ignoble; idle hands

seeking, lonely, altogether - lethal;

slithering fast and legless,

the night can do nothing in this open world.

The spray is commandment stone

harvested for spears.

         All the lights bleed their glow and die in the morning.

Children strike down in this way, one fears,

aimlessly at flowers; tearing too many, picking none - never told

         forgiveness is the root, buried in the strike.

Perhaps we should not have been; so

we cheated, forged our skin, stole our parts and took stage;

perhaps this world was

all for the animals: the nobility