Facing down the barrel of the sun
with the bullet ray striking I
blink
seeing the spiral from the muzzle to chamber,
the pin behind,
remember the project?
The thing you brought to class.
Physical poetry, she said.
Matter, she said.
Tangible, she said.
So I built a sea mine,
triggers and all,
iron casing and all so when it went off
death would be assured,
all of it out of wine bottles,
spray paint, and 40 gauge wire.
Getting it there, across campus, was not easy.
Is it live? For me to know and you to
fuck off.
The workshop did not go over well either.
