Spectacular Attacks by Joyelle McSweeney

When you hear of spectacular attacks,
recall how they will appear in night vision —
green, blooming into the sky,
tight-sprawling Easter sprays.
This is the heat the building yields:

a familiar production. When the bear pedals short,
the cloth clown climbs a wire
to defuse what's perched
atop the telephone pole.
This is the confusion of a volatile formula,

the outflowering of nourishment
bad and good for you both. You clutch
at what flies from you. You watch
from the outside, wandering brick.