The art of the bow tie
The art of the gun
The art of the neat explosion
The art of the train wreck
The art of the punch
The art of this profusion
Of mayhem without
The odor of blood and sweat and burning skin
Then the earth revolving backwards
Then the smell of everything
At once
And the taste of things
That are not there
And the thirst
The dreadful thirst
And the need to purge
This creature
This animal in your belly
Snared and screeching out in hurt
Then
The smell of him
And the exultation
At the sight of his mangled body
So disfigured
You don't even know what this creature is
Or was
And there are pieces of him
On your legs
When you realise
Your clothes are gone
#NaPoWriMo 2013 poem number 17
© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013