I hold truth like a bullet.

With the flip of a switch,

   I can make things complicated.

If I whisper a magic word or three,

   your thermostat sticks
      your drains back up
         and all the trains run late.

   Birds fly in through every broken window
      and die in improbable ways,
         usually in places you can't reach.

With a wave of my wand,

   incongruous vines knot fast around your ankles.
      It takes decades but
         you won't notice the
         time pass.

   Tears freeze in twin stalagmites
      that block the entrance to the kitchen.

When I draw a line in the sand with my toe,

   Dividing what was from what is with nothing but space,
      an elephant takes up residence in your living room
      and refuses to break eye contact.

I have my finger on the button.

There is no joy in mutual assured destruction,

   but it gets lonely on this side
      of the line.

(first appeared in issue 17 of the delinquent)