Peter Chapman Poetry

inventing terror

bullets in movies have that up
from under zing now, and bones,
snapping, take every echo seriously

you wonder if it's really the Foley boys
busting celery, or Tarantino in the morgue
bruising the dead,

but how swoony love can be,
dark blooms of blood, and augury

how it gets in there and havocs me

one ought to keep in mind
these days
the goodness of good people,
how beautiful that is

tell me worry is worthless,
not to fool with it
and i'll watch where you go
what you fool with
and who you love so bad