literature, notes, poetry, Uncategorized, writing

Gunman

tree

The gunman’s eyes

shined like his gun

bullets of sunlight

across shadow-expanses

of night.

Murder is hot and nameless

unlike the dead

who yearn for ground

like rain

seeping through history.

All minds affixed to

the poet’s

disappearance

as if it were a poem

in a book of poems

penned by false gods.

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