Here a thousand birds dispute
The gun going off
the random back fire
who handled who
and who rose to be recognized
and how the body came to be fresh
fallen there
and why the girl was tacked
and how her wrists looked slight in hand cuffs
and the exact nature of the orange pin
and the load glassing her eyes
the load incalculable and
the incalculable load.

Here a thousand birds dispute
the fresh blood on the sidewalk
the battle line, how it was drawn
how the sides were chosen
had there been a trial
Or any doubt and if so
how it was framed
did the shot hang in the air and who
was there to hear it, and here
Hold this thought—4 are shot per day

As xenon follows its element
Or night its day time shadow
As penumbra fades into solids
and endures a rain of blows
—there falls a reign of blows

Here a thousand birds dispute
What went wrong
the stopped clock
the orange pin
the random call

the fall from childhood
the fall, the incalculable fall,
the fall incalculable

this time to not let the familiar
obsequies masking obscenity
twist lips, the birds dispute

these too, the televised worship of cinders is riveting
junk heartache abetted by hollow gestures

The birds’ disputations grow louder
frantic against glass
stunned splintered and hushed,
in shadowy, honeyed innocence

The gun going off
The random back fire…..
appears as random as asking
who’s got the gun
who owns the gun
who sold the gun
who pulls the gun
and who does the gun let sleep.

Proof that we live in a broken world and a broken world is unlivable.

Proof that the carrot turns into the stick and vice versa. Proof that that seems normal, self-sufficient.

Proof that we sometimes destroy things that are broken and can’t be
fixed and sometimes fix things because to live with them broken is
unthinkable.

Proof that we switch roles, sometimes to destroy things that are
broken and can’t be fixed and sometimes to live with things that are
broken because to fix them would be unthinkable

Proof that we learn to live with the unthinkable.

Rectangles in tangerine, orange and persimmon fall into place, take
our names, simulate full hands. Proof that having full hands leaves
no time for questions.

Proof that we can’t help grabbing the sharp end, even when all the
warnings are there.

Proof that we find the hot water, the hot water finds us.
Proof in the tongue of ruin and burn. Fluent in the language of minus.

The trees have fallen and the forest comes apart.

Proof then by reading it on paper. Proof in unmarked bills. Line by
Line our eyes fill up with witness: Morning as clear as glass.

Can stones be far behind?