The first time
I saw a ******
I saw it in the open legs
of a smouldering woman
pockmarked by bullets,
and her curly black
hair
was pink
with brains like worms.

Her knees shook
spasmodically
like spider's
when you smush
them under your thumb.

The first time
I saw and
held a gun,
I yanked it from my father's
eternal fingers.

His head was open too,
and it buzzed
in a black rain of flies.

They were shooting,
and little plumes
of dust
exploded all around my feet.

Whizzing, Banging, a roar
of warfare, and I burned myself;
the shells kept falling against my skin
as I held that AK
squeezing
and falling
as the gun
pow'd
and recoiled.

Little bubbling lakes of skin
hurt my arms for days.