When I Opened My Eyes This Morning

When I opened my eyes this morning

(Most people wouldn’t call it morning)

There was a bullet in me.

So I didn’t sit up, or turn over.

I lay with my eyes open and the day

Breathed around me,

Inhaling light, exhaling shadows.

I bled beautifully, needlessly, profusely.

There was no pain. There was no wound.

I did not know where the bullet had lodged itself.

It may have been my rib-cage,

My thigh, my wrist, my brain.

They shouted, “That is art!” and clamoured for a better view.

But it wasn’t.

There was no pain. There was no wound.