Saturday, August 18, 2012

Guest Writer: I Make Bombs

"I make bombs for a living."
Noe Piters

I make bombs for a living,
but I am not a professional.
From what I’ve learned
you take two substances 
that do not belong together
and mix them, frequently and
thoroughly and 
the rest is done for you.
Acid bubbles and 
ruthless ripples
emerge from tranquil waters,
brewing for hours, days,
years at a time.
There is nothing quite like the 
aspiration for
creation; and
I make bombs for a living,
I’m not proud of what I do.
This need was embedded in me
from birth,
it was written by fate itself,
it comes but never goes,
and it manifested when I fondled the flask
with my fingers
for the first time
and pinched the pipette
with precision.
But the best part is the explosion,
the warmth that crawls around your neck
and envelops your face
and scars your arms.
Each time you become less recognizable,
each time you become someone new.
These feelings become everything you know,
and though you may try
to force them down
and drown them out,
your free will becomes an element of fiction.
I make bombs for a living,
and I did not choose this life.

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