by Emma MiaoTW: gun violence
We open at sunrise. The stage is set under flashing lights. A theatre where the convict always dies. The intercom buzzes, spastic: surrender & you’re lurching within the construct, flesh bruised by the white bars. Soon, the hourglass will crack. Patiently, I teeth this cardboard street. On cue, I explode into one million tremolos. I burn the walls with my fingertips. I raid the Capitol. The puppets flail on their axes, their strings caught in the machinery. They jerk, spitting out rubber bullets and paint bullets and real bullets and splaying open their wooden mouths. It starts to snow. My eyes burn, because it is ash. Applause flutters through the darkened room. On the stage, the bones are all the same colour. The crowd calls: Give us more
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
SearchBy Date Published
June 2022
|