"nothing under my skin by light. If you cut me I could shine"

I half expect a lead ball with a lighted fuse to crash through my windshield as I drive home on the 4th of July.

Somewhere close, a boy could be shouldering an AK-47, or a gangster is writing his name on the wall of Hollywood Video with his Tommy.

Colors flash across the sky, and I wonder how I would feel if I went to sleep every night listening to these jarring beats.  People do.

And how would it feel to go to sleep knowing that the lighted fuse may direct mortality to my bed; this may be my last sleep.

Of course, this may be my last sleep.  But I still feel immortal.

I can't smell smoke.  I've never seen a body ripped open by bullets and shards.  Children don't carry guns here.

I can hear the stillness between explosions: sharp cracks and distant booms.

I remember being younger, sitting near water at night, watching the moon, feeling the same stillness... waiting for the beats.

Who doesn't know the expression of the moon on a summer night?  I wonder what will threaten my finity.