Synaesthesia Magazine Cities - Page 65

Photograph by Sean Jones

Vigilante

Vigilante

The mad stands in line

like everyone else.

One, he says, bills from the other pocket

ahead of, behind, eager people

who cannot smell fear

for the popping of corn.

Today I flood the yard's bald spots

with a green hose, the usual

Sisyphean single-barrel.

A poem re.

The Aurora Massacre