Spelling & grammar want me to use bulkheads
instead of fuckheads & although I like bulk,
there’s nothing like the smack of a fuckhead.
Like Jack White, who says technology is a big destroyer
of emotion and truth,
I dream of sledgehammering computers,
jumping on them, then throwing the detritus out the window—
feeling my own gunfire because who wants a watered-
down heart?
People call me dark, but a world without dark//
is just half a world.
I know you understand.
There’s a bridge between us, can you see it?
Didn’t you ever want to tear something down?
Smash it to make the parts talk their battered talk:
the stabbing edges & burning colors, the love compressed
in the steel beam & the raging yellow flame?
I’ve been dead a thousand years, & I’ve never tired
of the dying waving me away:
that last hand lifted between them & me:
that raised drawbridge of power,
that sweet breeze of that’s enough.