by Emma Miao
TW: gun violence
We open at sunrise. The stage is set under flashing lights.
where the convict always dies.
& you’re lurching within the construct,
by the white bars.
Soon, the hourglass will crack.
Patiently, I teeth this cardboard street.
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