Babe Drops Gun

Light arrives by frog movements. Whose darkness spake the crevice true. Water shines, a dog shakes. Nets of foods and waste move invisible. Child conceived just prior to the impact. Moon faces directly into other time. Dead leaves conceal mouse chewing beetle carcass. Crisp sound. Machine noise into scene fade.

Stratified signals in asphalt. Networks of flash on steel or glass rise oracular. Beyond the silence, babe drops gun. Bus crashes. Schools of fish pulse and shimmer. The bullet pierces the duodenum. The calendar. The bullet drops a babe, and the babe drops gun. With world. The next frame of the sequence goes blank.

Tree flaming at the periphery of night. Living sounds write time. A gun walks the paths. It wears the body of men. Nets of children held incontrovertibly hostage. The calendar emits fish. A flock of birds collapsed into a single letter. The envelope was you. You drop time, the babe grabs the gun, the bus uncrashes. Dead time reveals mice chewing the carcass of a bullet.

Sun drops water. Lightning sparks the tree. Color’s blur picks the champion. A child bends the equation, disappearing there. Where wings remain a flock of birds emerges as the moon. Babe drops gun, world pierces sun. Nets of trap and sacred blood burn like fish in men. A mechanism speaks the girl, she turns. The bullet is a man. His hands amend the gash.

Whose darkness spake the crevice true, and thus collapsed the trace.