I’ll donate you this moment here,
as I stand crying silently in a room full of commotion
over a poor fool who’s coccyx caught a bullet’s motion
and now the cops congregate, jeer
over his self-installed penis-pump,
his rantings about the cars, houses, gangs, Miami tears
embezzled from borders we all share, how his tattoos wear
out over the screams and dump
as he cries out, like any other, for his life.
Before the blood leaves. He will give anything.
Rife with laughter to match bullet bumps,
we stand here, panicked, but I would like to
give this moment to you:
you placid desert, you whirlwind of tears.
You might know how to hold me now
that I have held our dying child, how
I have loved, beguiled: surrendered my fears.