Every blames hurled,
every silence broke,
every pain replaced
by a proud unfettered,
guise of compensatory wrath
Shot after shot, dead beat
screaming a tirade
but the wounds would not
humble and listen
to anything but
strident selfishness
Shattering in slivers
burning in brusque blunders –
in this squalid blur
the loudest clangor
is the rhythmic fall
of the empty shells
our frenzied blunderbuss
Norman Santos
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-blunderbuss/
