.200

sometimes i just can't do it -

face that bottomless copper pit -
burned black from decades of misuse-

or
dangle in mid-air like a side of beef;
my core impaled on huge metal-
getting pummeled by the fists of fury that are
my rare memories,

my insights,

my depravity and

my windsock -

strode upon by men and women

of all creeds and colors -

designated terrorists taking aim at my heart -

but they can't get me.

not yet anyway.