It lies on the table,
Limp, nothing,
A pale dusty red.
It calls to me
And speaks of future glory
As ammunition.
I find it in my hand
It tangles in my fingers.
I test it and can't help but grin
But no, not today.
It would not be wise.
Later, I promise, later
I can let go
And I drop it,
And it is nothing once more.
April '01
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