I have just found something...

...and several more. Follow the lit words.

Gunpowder

I won’t stick my chest out before someone else’s firing squad
just so history might say I passed that test. That’s no way
to live. Gunpowder speaks for itself. To be alive at this party
you have to be conscious of your breath. I am party-conscious,
and you are not. Thank goodness we are both breathing,
my arm cast across the bed and over your body,
and I am waiting to be told what it is I feel under my arm,
a tap-tap not unlike the near-hopeless rhythm of someone
signaling from beneath infinite rubble. It may be my heart.
It may be your heart. There is infinite rubble on the news.
There are infinite contexts in which an open heart is not
nearly a good thing, contexts I do not nearly wish to name.


by Benajamin Paloff

Stolen from Jacket Magazine, October 2007