an angel black as soot,
restless, burdened,
focussed and resolved.
holding death in her fingers with
the cool, cool stroke
of the barrel
on her temple
makes her tremble
under there.
wires rule now –
her world wide web is strung
above the offspring of her offenders.
bombs beating their wings
heavier than their contents.
the hardware’s getting hot,
the software even hotter.
only show your eyes,
no surprise, no smile
for the camera, just
the cool, cool stroke
of the barrel
on her temple
makes her tremble
under there.
she didn’t tremble when
the russian fuckers
rolled her little sister over,
she could not move.
she didn’t breathe when
they jacked off on her oma’s face
and set her crippled feet on fire,
they would have heard her,
they would have found her.
so now her agenda
is embedded in detonators
- and the fight will go on,
watching the shoulders
of the weeping grow wings while
the cool, cool stroke
of the barrel
makes her tremble
under there.
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