There will always be a gun at your back. Or
your front. Or
somewhere near where your fear
And it is not your job to defer the end. Or the bleeding.
It is your job to keep the heart
Its violent living and scarlet song. Some would even
maybe the gun is a
That perhaps, it is actually
Because love can stop the heart's
heaving or push it to a sure sprint. And
maybe you can stop Love, but it is not your job to. Maybe the gun
is a metaphor for Loving and being Loved and fearing the person
who has a gun to your back. That they will
one day use it to kill
And fearing someone with
something you do not have. Or maybe,
A gun is a gun
And you are trying to
the simple verb is only as good as its distractions. the brain is good
for a ride if you hold on. the brain takes a breath / memory
evacuates. the pen is in an undisclosed location. the song pulls you
firmly into the seat of a car. fuzz goes the voice of the future. fuzz
goes the voice of the lovers. you are making a distinction here. you
are holding the blank in your hand. you, the immediate soft
pressed between two safe bodies in an undisclosed location you
watch understanding bloom. one hand to okay you. a reenactment
of forever’s face and its sick trill.
you & i & the immediate instinct to blank.
somewhere nearby a series of people walk to a series of
destinations. some seal a thought in plastic before dipping it deep
into steaming water. an idea takes a breath.
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We are doing OK here, pack the books with superclean hands, and can safely get to the PO for the time being. BE WELL. READ POETRY. Dismiss