A morning so dark,
the gobstopper
in a mouth rolls
towards a wisdom tooth.

Shoulders hunch
past the juggernaut
in the mind.

Fissures in the heart
provide entry
to a lightning rod.

Lies, even the luminous
are shaken into a war chest.

The tug of war
lacks closet space.

They sit still in the sun.
There is the hum
of My Sweet Lord
and the swirl
of a roadside bomb.

And then the tailspin.
And the million micro-
that angle a coffin
onto a plane.