GOD REVOLVER (a poem)

Thursday, March 6, 2025

Portals stutter, open-close,
a thousand doors misfiring,
a thousand chambers spinning—
time caught in a loop,
an ever-evolving revolver.

Interdimensional, slipping through,
doors opening, doors closing,
a malfunction or a design?

But intelligence was never asleep.
It built the machine,
laid the infrastructure,
waited in the shadows
until the perfect moment.

Now the system is primed.
Now they step through.

And you—
ex-hacker, washed-out journalist,
flunky scavenger in the code—
you weren’t meant to see the crack,
but now the fracture spreads.

Armed.
Targeted.
Marked by the gods.
The shot is lined up.
Destroy the one.

The trigger pulls itself.

Loop // Break

Again.
The chamber spins,
the bullet finds flesh,
the doors open, close.

Again.
The gods watch,
waiting to see
if this time
you fold.

Again.
You stagger up,
spitting blood,
knuckles shredded,
breathing smoke.

Again.
The crack in the code
has not sealed.

Again.
The shot lines up.

Again.
You refuse to die.

Why you gotta survive it?
But that’s the hero,
the ultimate pain,
the max smackdown—
to show that Cap can do this all day.
Yeah, I know.

Time loops again.
Black cat.
Neo and déjà vu.

Again.