blast radius
open the forever book
you have
six
seconds
not to read this
unless you must
i promise nothing
but… if you can
…
enter the garage
where this morning,
early, or
late last night
you blew out
most of your head
and two holes
in the roof
the police said
you would have put
the shotgun barrels
up inside your mouth
paramedics
removed you
the police hosed out
what was left
but they
couldn’t
see it all
or did not want to
i count to six
then start to finish the job, it takes
three hours to swear, sing, pray,
and one more hour just to breathe
while flies buzz
about broken eggshell
the fine curves
of your skull
there’s bone, brain, blood
behind a stack of magazines,
on children’s toys, a bike, a cricket bat,
inside a sleeping bag
it glazes the floor,
the walls
along with particles that were once
your eyes, your ears,
your memories,
thoughts
when i patch
the two holes in the roof
asbestos filters down on me
i guess my turn will come
…
a periscope
peeps
only the stars
the waves
nothing surprised you
being blown so far
so fast