Under the Gun Part 2

Wee net dividing us

Nothing but a hop over

Nothing but a shot to the shoulder

Damned blades and bullets

Never let go


Lone, lo’

Cradle, net, stone

I weep and smell

And the nest crashes, all eggs spill

Please eat the dead

Please correspond with whim

Where’d you go?

I needed you

To Listen

She spoke at the same time as me

With walls in the way

And drove me insane

Where’d you go?


Why’d you sever my mother’s arm?

From three thousand miles away?


I ran

Right into the cars

They all shot me

In the head

Every single Brit


With flashlights and

Stone we run toward numbers which

See us, so slow

So saddled up and in a sense

So small as to count more than extraradical infinity

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