Six Shooter (Warhead)
Chris Moore
I have come to terms with the fact that we live
in an epoch when men can load their heads up so full
of war that even the slightest offensive breeze
can depress their trigger, fanning out a
ruby red Rorsch test that depicts all the times
they’ve been abused. Which is to say
that this is really a thank you letter to all the weapons
manufacturers. Thank you, arms industry for
manufacturing such a vast and colorful flabellum
of language: smart bomb, napalm, agent orange.
As if it were a man in an overly vibrant jump
suit who stole his way into the jungle and plucked
every last leaf. I take it that it is no coincidence
that if the point of the bullet is some message,
some rounds should be hollow. Thank you Smith
and Wesson for producing so many typewriters with only one
key that barks out exclamation points for punctuating a stranger’s
guts in the amphetamine-blinking city night.
Thank you – it all sounds so nice on paper. And
Kalashnikov is merely the most prolific Soviet writer, regarded
for his emphasis. Thousands of pages of endless, endless
emphasis. Thank you for words like fox-hole, which could be
construed as bucolic. And flame thrower might describe
one who juggles high octane fuel. Which, by the way,
is a work of genius: give a soldier the ability to reach out
to another person of like mind and set
them on fire.
