dIORAMAS*

the
roof
of hell
is broken
shell casings
and rain
a child’s bed driven deeper
underground

Idiot bombs sets fire to the whoreizon, mortarjackets tailored to severe head from collar, hand from wrist, anklet from juicebone. These addle-minded men playing jacks and balls with children’s lives, sitting in pikespit and oval, scheming ways to kill the same person twice. And the children sit in the drake of night, wondering when a yellowjacket will find purchase in the hole of they’re roof.

the
mirror
reflects
someone
{a pictogram}
a shimmer
of light
breaking
fast