The War for Your Attention

It’s hard to hit the pupil of your eye
as visions thrust, and jerk, and reappear.
I’d steal a glance, askance, but who am I?
There’s how we look, then how we disappear.
I’m blown and busted on the war of tugs.
What good’s a pair? Why don’t you trade them in?
A six pack for a patent pair of “ughs”?
I placed my ad in verse, and signed it “Fin.”
My steely arsenal is on parade,
its edge, acute admission to my rage,
the kegs discharged, the bloody mess I’ve made,
precision pricks of light to pierce the page,
my total war, below and from above,
missiles of meaning, Molotovs of love.