My name is an ending,
surname,
derived from the Latin
“Martinus”.
(A gift from a father
lost,
failing beneath my
powerless hands).
I am dedicated to war
not poetry
no
not that, not some
clinking
at keys,
rather, clinking
at bullets,
slotting them into clips,
ready for their magazines,
not ‘zines,
not some dumb rags, covered
in words…
not this dumb, unread blog.
this unwatched missile.
rather, I should shoot
metal that pierces skin,
actual hearts,
not
yours. Not your
self,
no.
I am not supposed to be dedicated
to conquering you with my heart.
My aim is supposed to be more literal.
Catastrophic, nonetheless.
