The right place, the right time?
To hold the frame in perfect synch
to bleach the crystals of the camera
and hold out your hands, both cup and cradle
for the sacrificial wine
for the bone-shard disk
counting out an infinity of wooden beads
where the glistening red
pools into a bed
for deepest rest
under tile floors
and floats of grit and cooking grease.
Would that right place be five inches to the left
would that time be the bullet in my head.