To sleep with an AK40 under the bed
perchance to dream such slaughterish thoughts
a million unknown faces lie gasping a final breath
before I even wake.
A handgun, silver handled, beneath the pillow
fondled by relaxed hand, fired accidentally
sending the brain matter of a partner
into the wall on their side.
A knife down the striped pajama pants
caressed between thighs and languid sac
slicing through the choices of tomorrow
with the night’s spilled seed.
It is God-given, if you believe such things,
God-spoken in the minds of the faithful
moral outrage held in hand, butted to shoulder
finger to trigger as often as wont –
free to kill, to hold onto freedom, to claim the top
of whatever mountain, humans are, after all,
a solitary creature, no need for the rest,
a gun, a shelter and the belief – right over matter.
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