It’s Possible to Gun at This One

A shower I could have, or a flood

All white, composed by kind minds

and a fluid meticulous gathering of emotion


If she walked among us, I might cry

were it not for the mole on her chest

Though one day we could pummel glass we chose not to


So once the jacket goes on, once the label gets placed

A riot of fire cackles and we glance on, energised

Punctured by her own corner


These roofs you’ve stared at

Mercilessly hoping they’d change, it’s a career in buckets

My new blue tunic, if love was food you’d have no place here


I am an epic leg up cajoled by her election

A thin vein of pigment stranded among such very plain skin

as to a ghost, it’s possible to gun at this one



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