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| The New York Times |
Today, I’m much struck by a phrase in the news
and try it out—“I demand your unconditional surrender!”—
my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.
Like magic, it aligns differing views.
(Backed by troops and gelignite, no wonder!)
I’m much struck by this phrase from the news.
“Bring me tribute,” I add, “your children, booze!”
and suddenly, my house dazzles with gilt-y splendor.
My finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse,
my cup runneth over with oily ooze.
I down glass after glass, a drunk on a bender,
spurred on by this phrase I pulled from the news.
Outside, the sky purples to the shade of a bruise.
Let lesser men hide. I now live for thunder,
my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.
As if on a pulpit staring down at the pews,
I fulminate, my creed’s best defender,
completely transformed by this phrase from the news,
my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.
When not making art, Devon Balwit walks in all weather and edits for Asimov Press, Asterisk Magazine, and Works in Progress.
