deepundergroundpoetry.com
A gun kind of blue
A gun kind of blue
Is left: the wake of my touch
Burns as the sunset
Leaving ashen bulletholes
And the stench of death
The sound of voices, raucous
Demanding always
The fullest of attention
I stand like a soldier now
Is left: the wake of my touch
Burns as the sunset
Leaving ashen bulletholes
And the stench of death
The sound of voices, raucous
Demanding always
The fullest of attention
I stand like a soldier now
Published 23rd Dec 2016
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