The latest in a biweekly poetry series curated by Hanif Abdurraqib

And forget for a moment
the machine is itself alive

and by design
sated with the alien

softness of organ,
the temporary

framework of bone.
Point its muzzle

only at what you are willing
to destroy –

notice your target and what
is beyond it

and beyond
it – your neighbor,

the dog, a child.
A bullet's path

is characterized by hunger –
how far and how long

and how much?
The truth is the mechanics

don't come naturally.
It should take more

than a finger.

It should
destroy you.