Anatomy of a Handgun


Help forlorn.

A vacant sky.

Stretch forth
bitter animus,
occupy that darkened patch
of cankerous soul, itchy and torrid
in a black-eyed world.

Hold fast to a vacant light,
autopsy green in a dripping wind.

Fatal crow, shorn clean
by an anemic yearning.
Tread softly,
alight upon tattered clouds
like a secret, salty thirst.
Cast a growling eye upon the murky crush.
Throaty, ragged craw calls.
Atone! she says.

Slippery down
falling, failing
caught by a marvelous gasp.

Rise up!
With the clicking,
red-tinged clamor
of an ancient mode.
Redressed tendrils, smoky anchorite
of a cloistered breed.
An eternal passing.