the destroyer > text > Sean Burke
from SLACK COMPOSITION
I’m building a tiny machinethat would save our lives
if we could fit inside.
I stayed up all night
drafting instructions for a fire
with perfect reception.
Fall out of the tree.
Shoot into the bush.
Climb into bed
and forge a tiny death
to pass off as your own.
You owe me that much.
I gave you two stones
out of season, a month
birds lived in.
Together, we had
friends in small cities.
Then you returned
from the car
in a windowed crinoline
and clapped nonchalantly
at each new blossom
in the garden. Birds
flew to the moon
but couldn’t find food
and hibernated. Now
turn to the tree.
Count to three. You don’t see
friends in the faces about you.
They are trying to line up
the prisoners before
the firing squad’s
totally melted.