Shoot The Line

Inhaled
crinkled brown
paper bags.
Straight cut ice filled with rage
you chase it all to defeat the pain.
Archaic providence
like Lenin on his
deadly prowl.

Inflated vein -
target ready and located – so shoot
the line.
Think
you still
can walk a vertical path?
Like some
self-satisfied lizard –
you skulk, your
organs now speeding
abattoir bound.

Shapes
of children playing
souvenir bottles of party lemonade
death becomes
you – so why be afraid

Bleed
it on the ground.
You are cold, dead
stoned and way beyond our fixing...