363.365 - not-sense

there is a kind of madness
in the poems I read tonight
a sense made of not-sense
like a bullet flying backwards into a gun
into the cartridge where the fire
unburns back to powder
and the trigger unpulls
the man so certain a moment before
looks confused
looks at his gun
throws it away and runs
down the sidewalk and into an alley
high on the stairs of a fire escape
a jack o'lantern uncarves into a pumpkin
then falls falls falls
to land on the man running below
who suddenly blind
runs full tilt into a trash dumpster
and staggers out into the alley
just as a car races through it
the man seems to fly
and lands hard upon some garbage cans
the car disappears into the street
the man tries to sit up and falls to the ground
a boy who has only watched events in the alley
approaches
waits til the man's eyes meet his
says "that was so cool!  do it again!"
the man laughs
and the boy who has heard that laugh before
flees