Let me tell you how long this takes. The same
tick of a clock as to spit. Gasp. Maybe
spurt a surprised “ha!” Flow a single frame
of film over the projector’s bulb. See
a lightning bolt’s glow across the night sky.
Flick your lid’s lashed flesh to cover eyeball’s
iris and lens. Bite your lip or tongue. Cry
for help. Sweep the arch of a waterfall.
Swat a fly, blow a kiss, slap a high five.
I’m talking about that instant you prove
you’ve learned war’s routine for staying alive.
Forget everything you knew about love.
Reality flares in your Ka-Bar’s slash,
M9’s flash, Mark 77’s ash.
Roger Armbrust
January 30, 2008
