Bullet

There’s a pain in my head

            I need pills

Warm, wet on my neck

            I want a towel

An anxiety in my stomach

slowing in my heart

maybe I need the touch

of my mother, caress of a lover

sight of a god

or a surgeon to remove the bullet killing my brain

Reviews

[Salvatore Buttaci]

Your poem moves along smoothly and the rhythm is not forced but able to carry along the reader line to line. Great!

Sal