Thursday, November 19, 2020

Previously Published in Crack the Spine . . .

Without Bullets

the gun is a vacant hollow.  Bastardized
bud vase, avante garde, paper-weight-
door-stop-glorified-rock rotting in a box
(no longer locked) on a dusty shelf, in the back
of a closet, mournfully reminiscing, desperately
missing the cavernous explosion, echoing retort.

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Previously Published in Epigraph . . .

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