word to the swordsteel tracks moonlit behind
your twenty-four hour post office, hot for
copper lexicide . . . shook my watch & frowned
because the nine:twenty-five from No Return
rarely runs so late when murder’s to be done
TWELVE NIGHTS ago I struck a match
against my black sandpaper sky
& touched it to a seven-mile fuse,
set phoenix-feather lettersparks to sputter
south but slow to your decaying horizon
TWELVE NIGHTS ago I dropped
a thirty-ton shoe ; still [,] I
wait for the final thundercrash,
its brutal kiss on your bedroom floor
TWELVE NIGHTS ago I
fired my fastest bullet:
it’s taking its sweet time
TWELVE NIGHTS
AND COUNTing
(12)
(first appeared in issue 17 of the delinquent)