The measure of violence
Who slides open a glass door
only to dim the view
of the slowly scrolling horizon,
spurns the calm
that naturally deepens
with the slow roll of the ocean,
refuses the soft breeze
caress of your face and
every other part of you,
casts the sun upon waters
that no longer absorb
even one particle or wave of light?
Who crashes the geometry
of the world: the imperceptible
arc of the horizon,
the immeasurable swell
of the rolling breakers,
the palpable transparency of a door,
the no man’s land stretch
of a tabletop?
Who seeds its cool surface,
the door frame, the glass,
your khaki-trousered languor,
the insensate ocean and sky,
the lame tranquillity—
the polished grip
of a 9mm Browning pistol,
sitting there
just within reach?
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Dark, suggestive and beautifully written. Leaves lots of questions I have to say.
Foreboding. Such a measured retreat of a soul determined to close out all sense of connection.