The alarm went off again

a brand new morning welcomed

by NPR.

On the news, another shooting

somewhere nearby

perhaps a baby is dead,

or a lunchroom full of

bright-faced teenagers;

does the carnage belong

to an elementary school

or a military base?

Is it a black man shot

without cause in the face?

Will it be three streets over

and two streets back, or

somewhere over the border?

The tingling in your toes

as mourning approaches

is certainly in time for the

glory and power of prayer,

lead on knees

weighted down, each

emulsified version of English

spoken falls back to the ground

spent like funds unavailable and

rejected by the bank teller in Heaven

locked up forever

and he a Deist In the worst possible way.

The people are apportioned rights

in Amendment Two –

which for some outweighs everything

everything from little Billy and Sue

to the wife and what she says

about guns in her weekend run

pounding the grassroots to make a

mild attempt at common sense.

The shooters expectation, longing

for happy trigger finger erections

stops any chance of that. Control

of guns at even modest station

is like an atom bomb dropped on

35% of the nation.

Of course, the next morning

the radio goes off to report

what darkness is there in human

hearts and the glee of the gunner

is answered in the blood of the