Volume 32, Number 4

Even If There Weren’t Perpetual War

Words are little bombs
in the mind-field. Lean

close to a lover’s mouth,
and you’ll hear the ticking.

Or dance deft enough to slice
the fuse with tap shoes’ metal.

But don’t even dream of being
the first, in cutting red wire, this

world-soul to defuse, graveyard-
playground of repurposed dreams.

—J. M. Hall