Someone is in that mood…
Gunfire on the TV.
M-16, round upon merciless round.
Tough, gritted-teeth curses
Spat out rapid-fire.
Jagged, ragged, shouted orders,
Blasting above the chopper blades,
An angry, tuneless choir.
Know it’s all pretend.
Know they’re bleeding out fakeness,
Filming crocodile tears and then
It’s off to lunch.
Know it’s ridiculous to be frightened
At the sight of play actors at play,
Yet, there it is, the mental sucker punch,
Pounding away inside,
Weeping for real,
Hollering how it’s all much too much;
Crying how I can’t help what I feel.
And I just have to run and hide,
Somewhere where they aren’t mowing
Whole cities down,
And gratuitous blow ups do not abound.
I despise small spaces, yet my urge is to
Dive under pillows.
Barring the ability,
I instead tune into the soft
In my head,
That which I can summon at a
For hard experience has taught me to
Train in my thoughts’ train to
Realign, retract, refocus…
Ah, sweet eternal, internal playlist!
You save me from so many of the
Sensory overloads of living…
Envelope and carry me over the
Violent, hairy fists
Film has wrought.
Show me a world past this endless,
Make-believe, violent thing
Which I grieve that
This world has bought…