Evenings, we jam some rounds into our armalites
& slap FPJ-like some clips into our .45s
We are on knightly missions, our kind of jive –
We’ve come to perform the rock & roll of slitting
troublesome men & O those filmic women –
We put some order into the hierarchy of killings
O We were rustic, young & stupid then:
Kittens who trembled at the crack of lightning
but this terrorist business is pure sex of pure love
We’re like bureaucrats ordered by Almighty God
“The tag doesn’t bother me.”
Watch his eyes.
They’re figuring out
in the dark.