Gedicht
Neil Rollinson
Head-shot
Head-shot
Head-shot
It didn’t hurt a bit, in factI felt ecstatic. I could see the bullet,
bright as a star. I could trace
its parabola over the field,
like fishing wire, a pencil line
drawn on paper.
I was, for a moment, a visionary.
I stilled the mayhem, the wind, the rain.
The bullet flew right through my head.
I went down like a sack of spuds,
s-at on my arse in the shit.
I saw each of my friends
come and look at me.
Some were frightened
and some were full of life.
One held my face and kissed me.
I was far away, I thought of no one.
I was the only living thing in the universe,
and giddy with it all, godlike.
I’d do it again, and again. Yes.
Shoot me again. Oh shoot me again.
© 2010, Neil Rollinson
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
Publisher: Poetry Review, London
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
Publisher: Poetry Review, London
Gedichten
Gedichten van Neil Rollinson
Close
Head-shot
It didn’t hurt a bit, in factI felt ecstatic. I could see the bullet,
bright as a star. I could trace
its parabola over the field,
like fishing wire, a pencil line
drawn on paper.
I was, for a moment, a visionary.
I stilled the mayhem, the wind, the rain.
The bullet flew right through my head.
I went down like a sack of spuds,
s-at on my arse in the shit.
I saw each of my friends
come and look at me.
Some were frightened
and some were full of life.
One held my face and kissed me.
I was far away, I thought of no one.
I was the only living thing in the universe,
and giddy with it all, godlike.
I’d do it again, and again. Yes.
Shoot me again. Oh shoot me again.
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
Head-shot
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère