Violence
by J. Oakes
Parked near the corner of
Cottage and Allen
silence comes like
a tidal wave
there is glass
in my boots I wonder
who I am
pastiche of blood
and swollen eyes
throbbing
in the
rearview mirror
cuts on these hands
they must be mine
faces gather
under the orange glare
of streetlights
hands reach out
pointing live
local late breaking
pay per view
love
the word
shot in a vein
spilling silveryblue
blood on the
sidewalk before it
reaches
the heart
—the thought
dragging wings
down some secret
alley
stars
dropping
scattered in
the street
abandoned, bleeping
from sad puddles under
an empty sky
image flickering
silent
forgetting
who I am
who sees Ymalla blazon
from the backdoor kitchen
Yumalla
who loves his mother
and wears a white apron
who in the wide-screen vision of
the world slays the dragon
with his shining fist
not knowing me
or ever knowing me
because I no longer am
I’ve disappeared from this
fairytale
disappeared from this
screen
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