Coral Hull: Poetry: Psychic Gun: 2. The Relationship/ 16. A Police State In Crisis/ A. Special Operations Group

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: PSYCHIC GUN
16. A POLICE STATE IN CRISIS

B. Special Operations Group

the building is surrounded/ release your hostage/
put down your weapon/ turn around slowly &
come out with you hands up or we'll shoot/ i
saw sunlight on the petals after you had gone

ranting & raving fucking sluts all up my street/
the smashed glass through the carpet you will
never replace it/ the sunlight hit the tiny petals
as you went/ i fell into shock & was infinitely

deep/ no matter what the cry sounds like a puppy
or a lamb/ you will not turn around/ no matter
how long i cry for a day or a lifetime/ you will
not turn towards me/ i let the hope of being loved

by you slip away/ i let it die as the sun set over
the city/ we all get our just deserts in the end/
all go where we belong/ you need help dumb
cop/ no bail, no parole/ i hope you're in for a

long long time (finally you hurt me enough
thank you as you cut the rope mumbling half
drunk/ told me never to come back & i didn't
i tried to be close to you again but after that

night nothing was ever the same/ i left with
my sanity intact/ i thank myself for that)/ i
viewed him coldly like a hostage via the
photo identification kit/ when did he first

become that way?/ when was the spirit of the
child crushed inside the bony chest?/ when
did the adolescent drag the dead weight into
adulthood?/ when did the adult begin to

rot?/ it is frightening when the four year old
boy has the temper tantrum inside the body
of a forty year old cop/ if i saw that coming
again sweetheart/ i would run a hundred mile/

i wanted you to be a father to me/ not the
weak delinquent my father was/ but the father
he never was/ this cliff face of love is what my
dreams cling to/ before i let them go/ broken

hearted/ face to face with solitude/ the mirror
of disillusionment/ so i must finally give myself
everything that my parents didn't/ i still dream
of running up to myself as a oddly adjusted

adolescent in a high school corridor/ to the
strange dark haired girl with the chipped teeth
& the angry eyes turning towards me/ my frail
hand placed on her shoulder/ 'i am sorry for

what you will go through'/ i ring my nan in
liverpool/ during the humid sydney summer/
when the days are long & blue/ stretched into
oceanic beds of flowers & grass to the height

of knees/ the sunsets stark & the grief louder/
this is the end of innocence/ unless i preserve
all that is good/ put it inside for later/ i ask 'nan
does it get any better?/ she says 'no worse, but
you get stronger'

    

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