De-activated

We unpack the crates
from the customs hub
the heap
of discarded Zastavas grows
like a game of staccato Mikado.


A commemorative cairn
forms in the middle of the room
to the names impressed in wooden stocks
or the shameful acts
wrapped in post traumatic stress
suppressed questions of why and how
blame and winding sheets.



"The difference between me and you
is the accident of birth
that puts me at this end of the AK47
and you at the other"

Somewhere in the mountains
during a lull in the shelling
a boy decoupaged this Kalashnikov
with pictures cut from magazines
girls, long -legs akimbo
pose with strappy stilettos
nails and lips red as red as red
as drips on the dead ground
and on the flip side
fantasy heroes of the silver screen
tough and invincible

conscience unnecessary
it is not real
this game
this cinematic art.

i hold it
i hold it all in my hands
and in my head
some kind of psychometric vision
that shatters imagination
leaves me falling through the black hole
of the exit wound

and wish i could de-act more
than just the guns.