Again you're on television, printed repeatedly in newsprint, on pages of overcast sky
that crackle when turned. On monitors too, glowing bluely across
America. On our minds and tongues, your word, monosyllabic, just three curled fingers.
Let me tell you: I've had it with hearing your name. I am tired of seeing your L-shape design,
the black sickle of your trigger. How dumb you look with your little round mouth
open all the time. Say something insightful for once. Or is that opening
your nostril? Perhaps your navel? To be honest, I do not care anymore. You will never
speak for yourself. How helpless and useless you are without a human hand.