i use to wr-

i use to post a lot, small moments

covered in a scarf

or bundles of blankets

like a timeline of me.

& somewhere along the way

i started to take in

this negativity that spawned:

some from these memories

from the dread of time

the doubt i have over these dreams.

more input then

i could process

all the good the bad and the ugly.

if everything was put into a blender

mashed, spewed out of a topless container

caught in all of my gears

along my side

locked up

& eventually

my audience lost interest in my work-

myself.

so now

high noon

moon beaming down like a spotlight.

crisp evening air blows through a chipped scarf down to these worn denim.

whistles of a challenger:

matching gray python boots and pistol

all that’s left is a trail of smoke and an eye meeting mine.

he whispers, “Every gun makes its own tune”.