Sunday, June 10, 2012

Fashionably Too Late

(inspiration: this article)



It’s best that bull’s-eyes
stay pixelated,
not painted onto tangible targets –
wooden, shaped like black hollow hoodies
with a pack of skittles up one sleeve
and a threatening bottle of iced tea in the other  –
kept at a distance
that you choose.
It’s different in this dimension –
this isn’t a video game.
You can’t just stop
push the plastic button
under your thumb
take those shots back,
reload.
Here, on sidewalks you can feel
under your walking feet,
bullets fire
get lodged
and stay
in wood, in bone,
in flesh,
in memories –
and it’s not romantic nostalgia.
It’s crimson pooling at your feet.
It’s a pair of rolling eyes flashing white.
It’s the wetness of tears in winter air.
It’s angry cries, it’s sniffling pleas –
some last loud and long
and the silent ones
blare only with helpless frowns,
endlessly.




[check out more at http://www.pedij.tumblr.com]

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