I want to be a poem hung in a pouch
awaiting David’s hand to heft me,
be swung in a sling, given wings,
flung to some Philistine’s face,
cracking cranium, breaking brow,
creating chasm wide enough
to ponder the power of pebble
launched in prayer, mumbled verse,
ancient mantra turning toy to weapon,
sacred chant transforming boy to man–
sheer poetry in motion:
stone
palm
string
psalm
sting
bone.