T. J. Sandella
Now
from a distance
mostly
drones hover
over every hovel and house
internet adversaries
portend each other's ruin
it's what makes us human
isn't it
this compulsion
to prove our permanence
and maybe violence
proves it more compellingly
than paintings
or poems
it burgeons
fist into spear into bow
into bomb
though we've heard
the tiny voices
buried beneath the rubble
though we've seen
arms flailing
from high windows
though we want better
for ourselves
and each other
there is another voice
that says the world
bends
around a blade
around a bullet
and where did I learn
as a child
to make a gun
of my hand
point my finger at the moon
and fire
and why is part of me
still waiting
for it to sputter from the sky
like a balloon filled
between god's puckered lips
suddenly let go?