This is a dream, so it begins with
the usual posthumous tears.
The laws of physics
twitching and haemorrhaging. I, alone, cradle and cling,
awash in arterial blood, awash in seeping dark, in distant,
idiot gibberish, awash in snowy silence;
in the bitter failure of an imperfect faith.
I, alone, distill a kind of comfort from a parabolic arc, from
the fading image of an apple, pierced. I have known
the warmth of happiness--never in this place.
The laws of physics wear my ashen face.
I am naked, ridiculous, already cold. A bullet
accelerates, undetected, warming the barrel of a gun.
Copyright John D Porter © 1997
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