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Second​-​Hand Grenade

from Failsafe​-​B II by Eric Beeny

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lyrics

All clap, and no snap out of it. Wishful thinking broke my thought bone connected to my hand’s palm in half, haphazardly planned but with contingency: Failsafe-B was but a predicted memory. In retrospect, it’s still not as infuriating as an amputee’s masturbatory fantasy. So, if it’s already lost, what’s left to cut? At all times or costs, but no more than a lot does my sudden loss of amnesia cause my walk-in skeleton closet to composite me with the world itself inventing my footprints across it. Cuz after all, plural’s just one word. Each letter, every alphabet—all tongues tripping over their umbilical jumprope strands of time and play leapyear. Time’s a trick like candles, blow out your age for humor’s sake—I feel like it’s my birthday, about to jump naked out of my own cake… So I’m an accomplished accomplice to my suicide, and just by staying alive I die while surgeons molest poisons. My vanilla diaries washed to stone under naïve tides, dizzy and screened in rust. The barrel loops like a tender kiss in my mouth, guzzling the arcade bullet—a packrat’s panic attack huffing recycled breath from paper bags. You wanted to drag implications from beneath betrayal’s welcome mat but what strike ever intended to spare a few pins? I only take advice from dying widows and diabetic voodoo dolls. I know I’m still using a crayon—it’s too late for omens. Closing in on the oldest known form of exposure to frozen moments via photographic components to fathom the last phantom insomniac laughing at mattresses while the narcoleptic’s burning match’s collective ashes forget to ask the director’s cut to cast a change of bandages before camping us out in caskets. I stand in the aisles of crowded theaters burning discarded stubs with a mouth so big when I’m old I’ll soak my dentures in a bathtub…

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from Failsafe​-​B II, released January 30, 2006

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