I drew a gun on the page
lifting it up, I think it’s a 12 gauge
wet ink runs down my arm
arcade in the background
bright lights flashing
ferris wheel spins in the sky, grabbed a napkin
soaked up some black ink under the sleeve of my jacket
then squeezed on eve’s casket.

when words connect correctly,
they become birds or they become weaponry.

heavy artillery, matted down, feathery.