i. bullet

frozen dream wand,
give me bubbles that bruise
and i'll bleed sunsets for you.

staring into
your cylindered abyss,
the bang of silver-and-bone undoes me,
and with that last mask ruptured,
a smoke-shot rose blooms between my eyes.

then, will i gather
the shimmering haze of myself—
that iridescent puddle of too many
prisms and prisons—and drift aimless
toward the neverland skies?

or will i linger,
a red river seething with memory,
until the pavement cracks have drank me dry,
and sink into suburban story,

your shadow-spun trigger won't tell me,
but averts its murky eyes.