semi-automatic   

is it naive 
of me to want
to replace these
bullets with rain?
trigger thunder clap--
the god of lightning 
was displeased at
humans incessant 
fixation
on destruction--
as inevitable as
the discovery 
of fire thus 
was the discovery of
the bullet--
dropped
from a grey cloud--
at first mistaken
for hail--
they will tell
you that there
are bullets 
in your teeth--
they will tell you
that the first 
bullet was from
Prometheus-- 
the heroic defiling 
of the gods--
we revel in our
own ability to
draw blood--
how human how
human it is 
to bleed 
oh this is our manifest
destiny--
we expel 
metal-- we hone
death down to
the acuteness 
of a trigger--
we all learned about
guns from our fathers--
from our backyards--
we learned that
the eyes of
deer are made
of copper & to be
used as bullets--
in my attic as
i dug through
card board boxes
yet to be unpacked
since we'd moved
i discovered a 
small black gun--
trembling--
electro-magnetic
pull-- i clasped
her body-- the barrel--
the sleek trigger--
i aimed upwards
towards heaven
in case 
the gun discharged--
i didn't want to
be holding her--
i wanted to burry
the gun & never
see it again--
i wondered who
in my family would
own such a tool--
i wanted so
badly to 
test out the trigger--
as humans we
have all been
taught to 
pull triggers--
to absurd the
kick back
into our shoulders--
aim high past
the ceiling light--
into the
forehead
of the clouds--
i pointed at god 
unknowingly--
snap of
the gun-- laugh
of a bullet
i meant to replace
with rain but instead  
burst into
the white belly
of heaven--
come blood 
in a drizzle--
a reddish mist--
fog-- thumb print 
teeth-- 
the ankles of
my hands--
i stumbled--
the roof was
a cloud running
away
from me-- 
a child wrong
by the promise of
the gun-- the 
snake was a gun
& the each bullet
another blood
red apple for
us to bite into--
at recess when 
i was eight &
we were pretending
to be robbers
our fingers 
were semi automatic
& when the teacher
asked what it
was that our guns
fired we told
her gumballs--
we all knew they
were bullets--
it is grossly naive
of me to 
sit here while
rain drops
chase each other
off the ledge of
a cloud &
think that maybe
just maybe
they could
explode from
the barrel of a gun--
through
our canvas shoes--
leave us dripping
instead 
of dead--
oh god, don't forgive
your trigger
children--
it was me who
aimed upwards--
recoiled
back down
into the earth--
please take back
your bullets--
too
silver-- too
metal too fast