Solar Fluxions

The sun came up.

I could hear the weapons growling, yammering.

There was no intercom to buzz.

The building posted warnings, but Kant didn’t care.

Some bawling bluetick licked and liked 

my one-speed bike, my life.

There are worse things to fear than getting bitten.

The sun came down.

Do they look like killers to you? They do.

The horse shoots (condensed milk, in all likelihood).

Wittgenstein admitted confusion.

Pristine casings, the cameras of state television crews

could see clearly, the weapons yammering, growling.

There was no intercom to buzz.

The sun came up as the sun came down.

I could hear the weapons talking to the horse.

There are worse things to fear.

Do I look like a killer to you?

Some bawling bluetick shouted my tragic despair,

my heavy-lidded sullenness.