Dave Bonta's short poem is about the body working against itself. The title, "Self-destructive," sets the tone, and the first stanza makes it unsettling: a hand, at an unwatched moment, has the means to kill the whole body it belongs to. The opening "what what artifice" sounds like a stammer, as if the speaker is startled or baffled by how deceptive this act could be.
The second stanza turns strange and almost fable-like. Two horses, standing for "now and yesterday," are said to have been foretold to "unthank tomorrow" and dispose of "all next week." Judging by the imagery, the poem seems to picture time itself being thrown away, with the past and present refusing the future. The horses might suggest momentum, something that charges ahead and can't be stopped.
The mood is eerie and compressed. The speaker seems more stunned than sorrowful, watching a destructive impulse with cold clarity. The poem leaves its meaning open, and that gap makes it feel more disturbing.