2005

Smarter pow what I’m after. Must be for you

just standing up each time like swing onto a horse
bolts you flat. And your whale ideas? Of a shrimp.
Not the ideology behind my missile controllers

in their offices appear to rotate the world,

jut starbursts on command in urban

or rural landscapes. Impact craters

mess up farming? Really? Grains,

vegetables, or fruit transported

on the globe always somewhere.

But you still weeping? I’ll not fracture

my breath—my concern is speedier,

exacter rockets streak night or day sky

to destroy each enemy, maybe a few

bystanders whose relatives some turn

into puny-armed bomb throwers.

But I’ll not twist in sleep, for if

bitter me sometimes, howl you.

George Shelton

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