2030: I know I would vomit

I know I would vomit
[again] if we sat face-
to-face – such & such
[repeated by people]
still unsettles me [my
gut rips at every sore
un-truth] – Every toss
of a pin-free grenade
is counted ’til it turns
into Death’s propel [6
seconds are needed –
but it could be 2] – I’ll
not take a chance – In
my dream we’re both
throwing a grenade –
mine is odd to handle
[weighty – it’s heavier
than I had presumed]
& reduces me to parts
[& so it undoes me – a
wrist-spun googly – of
bloody war films] – My
wet waking moments
cool into rolled sweat
& light outside returns
my real place inside [I
won’t shoot a cat now
as reality puts me back
as one fixed-up piece]