Disposition matrix: fragments

the melancholy of a straight line of same-sized trees

the principal’s chair like a golden cloak

how many roads

running toward the shooter, shouting

the vacuum of grief quickly fills with kitsch

I went to bed hungry & woke up full

“Would you like ketchup with your freedom fries?”

survivors at Virginia Tech described him as looking almost innocent in his scout uniform

I dreamt about writing a book titled war canoe

dried wildflowers could be incorporated into a quilt full of names

all young males in the target area are presumed to be terrorists

the terrible coolness of indifference

how many roads must a man

both of them running, pitching forward

according to the Washington Post, the expanded kill list is known as the “disposition matrix”

the melancholy of angels that never learned how to pollinate

“How many bees would you like?”

in my dream I loved how the deserted street felt to my bare feet

the children hidden like stowaways in lavatories & closets

coats from the Army-Navy store

a fisherman’s sweater knitted to look like fish scales

just as bullet points rarely liven up a slide presentation, the sound of a gun is far duller than you’d expect from the movies

it was dark before I reached the end of the block

“How would you prefer we got rid of the crows?”

after the power comes back, the clock can’t stop blinking