Nocturne with IED

The pond beside the dump
            bubbles with blue froth;

milk cartons and black bags float
            like dead fish. A man’s head

pushes through, severs the surface
            of the water, red wires

pour like linguini from his mouth,
            the pockets on his vest

overflow with nails, screws.
            He crawls up

from the pond, a trail of black
            sewage saturating

the ground behind him. When he takes
            three steps—then stops—


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