Lord, not shot in liquor store stick-up,
jugular uncorked and finely misting or
splatter-patterning display case plate glass
and me so many pixels collapsing
at the feet of bikini’d cardboard
cutout models, purchase a puddle,
last words of my kind, “Oh, shit,”
lip-readable. Jesus not suddenly
in latex novelty emporium or slam-
bang stroke on jumbotron in a coliseum
screaming, not tumbling
from the burning building in a series
of photographs, speed increasing,
one frame famous because I look so calm.
:: Aaron Anstett, No Accident (2005)
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