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    I trust in killing
    Like one of many minor gods
    Or some lesser despot in the drag of his predecessor
    It’s the scale that interests me
    Plagues wars and their numbers
    Are quite boring compared to the care with which
    One can practice the precise destruction of a single part of flesh
    So not only do the nerves suffer but does the mind
    Ever so enamored of its own being
    I consider it my duty to correct this deceit
    I’m practiced and not so vain
    That when I encounter a prince with a saintly demeanor
    Or Amazon in the full bloom of her strength
    I’m not moved to grieve
    For what I have been wired to be done
    Monsters are born and made
    But the subtleties are lost on me
    I pray for my demise as much as I accept
    That I exist bound to these perfections
    Where I pick at my compote of raspberries
    When I should be slurping it down
    Tending to my nursery of piranhas and Tasmanian devils
    With a disinterest their frenzies belie
    But one should never mistake boredom
    For the active waiting that pulls the wires taut on time
    Anticipating the snap and the lacerations
    It’s easy to talk of discipline
    To feign affectations the rabble will fear and therefore worship
    And another to be present and brutally apply the enema dry
    That will prepare the intestines for my acid interventions

     

    Armando Jaramillo Garcia was born in Colombia and raised in New York City. His book The Portable Man was published in 2017 by Prelude Books. His work has appeared in Boston Review, Prelude, Pinwheel, Reality Beach, and others. He graduated from Aviation High School and attended Hunter College.

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