My flawed brain led me to kill all kinds of things.
So. Fixed in place. Fixed to place. Fixed of place.
I killed a public library for starters. I killed bugs
and bunnies. And still needed fixing. Intersecting
imaginarily a life while killing a street a path a
lane. My addiction to this savagery finally brought
me to stage some rather well-known people as killers
of linen paper poetry and more insects small mammal-
lives. Ended. My flaw hit the world in uncoordinated
ways that left most of us ajar askew off-kilter and
nervously expectant. Clunky. Petty. Wasted as oxygen.