Kindness for Killers

Equivalent
ambivalence,
fingerprinted
anarchist,
society’s acne,

I’m a zit collapsing
into cysts like
a white dwarf swallowed
whole by
renegade black
holes.

I’m italics fused with bold, underlined hyperbole, the eighth fold across. 

Elusive
as Klondike
gold, I’m Kryptonite and
Superman’s in my chokehold.

If the future’s meant to fall apart, then I’ll make self destruction my building blocks, upturned parking lots my heart, totaled cars into white chalk carving my name into imploded supermarket walls. Decorate school halls with new lessons, that you can’t always educate the best of us.

Brilliance doesn’t
always
amount
to benevolence.

Kindness can
not always
kill them since
kindness is
no match for
premeditated
violence.

Bringing violins to a gunfight, you better bring the best. I’m talking Beethoven and Bach, fucking Mozart, because those sirens aren’t crossing enemy lines for anything less than divine.

(“There’s nobody else coming, kid.”)

Nothing like a Mexican standoff during a hostage hand-off, a midnight arms race taking place in a heartbeat, as seconds slow to a morphine drip, bartering for a chance to depart this world with some glory intact like

two feral cats fighting to the death for some sorry rat neither one caught.

And if I’m
the one who
seems lost,

you should ask yourself whom between us would let himself
be caught and whom among us would
never give himself
up to anything
but a
single
stray
bullet.

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