Alive living conundrum

false feeling morose on a Sunday

blinking fading shadow theory

crawl into waiting darkness

the perfumed aroma tainted christening

portrays altruistic casualties of all

remaining tomorrows

oiled blue-steel shepherds speaking

twenty-five days under the gun

suppositions of conflict assail

my masterpiece, screams

that I can no longer fear

cannot succumb to the

mindless monotonies coalescing

begin the downfall of the

small things that remind

us of what is coming

to pass

no sermon but perhaps a warning

a certainty, for when

you take a deep breath and survey your surroundings

buckshot realizations

a shotgun roar reminding us of our fleeting sanity

I can carry


18 thoughts on “SHOTGUN

  1. the on the door should have said, “worship Services held here” the musak is tears for fear’ shout. it isn’t a candle consession persay abut a coinop condom dispensor… although you know you’re tempted to lie and offer no one holds a candle to you, after thesacriment two please. the infirmary is always a blur of pillow and a weighted magic trick of here comes the night as the lights steal the blur away. all may be right in the morning. (this probably makes zilch sense as a response, but smile confusedly as it’s a night at home with some ripple- at once a church, a bar an infirmary and I would say I know the smell of the wine…words)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have mentioned a time or three that you are one of my favorite poets, right?!

    Another mesmerizing trip through language.

    I actually have started thinking things like, “this is the kind of image of Olde Punk would use.” In fact I found one this morning I should send you.

    Liked by 1 person

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