Someday you’ll forget, he thanked God. Newspaper
where the words for the opportunity, a choice,
came from having my eyes opened by bells.
The dog will hand blitzkrieg, flying chairs;
the mouse made its rapid advance through chamber pots.
The bell became paramount. Three bullet holes
and the cat, the senior staff in the teeth,
will go crashing Camp Commandant. A coil of
will, the gumball, doodlebugs and buzz bombs, rope
machine, night shirt on pillow, emergency, and red
and sadness, a soak in the tub daily, underwear
will engulf producing pristine bells.
The city, for long hours, without seeing breakfast
like dust, the Cabinet War Rooms, penny
at sunset, most ballistics experts whistle.