Bullet Points

Life is where the bullet points.

No more lies just bullet points.

Mayakovksy's old revolver

Bric-a-brac of all past lovers

Lover, lover, love is over -

Just a stain left on the covers.

On the palette, mixing oils.

Striking keys as they recoil.

Just some type-O on the covers.

Just a typo on the cover.

Sheets are torn, the page discolored.

What did you hope to discover?

Lines are drawn connecting points.

Lifelines swinging on their joints.

Don't you see that words have power?

One word bites and one devours.

Worlds colliding every hour.

Hour, hour, - when is ours?

Gears are turning, springs are coiled.

Bells are tolling in turmoil.

The big clock-face on the tower -

Turns its mug to us and scowls.

It's enough to make men cower -

Onwards! Onwards! Cowards, cowards!