It was an accident, screams someone in your windpipe.
It was his windpipe giving up under the ton
of cold steel.
Or the light of his brain going out in the dark room
of his grandfather’s last fuck.
Well, something, a puddle, a map, something dark and sticky,
a pint of blood, a lifted skirt,
an army jacket, a blue eye.
It is the end of summer and I’m having an accident.
How do you like my eye
hiding this tear for you.. Oh yes you do
deserve it: you truly saw the whole thing.
Right now on the rug in your room your girl opens
a magical book, a secret TV:
in a thousand years we will call
for new accidents,
new sand
An Accident
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