The guns-a-fiddling as the sun takes a nap


Doleful morning
a carry over
melancholic evening
shots and rivulets
ceaseless anger
a badge of courage
bloodied initiation
as long as there is a gun

A Titan
leaves on  gnarled boughs
Zeus blows a storm
unnecessarily loudly
This Town
An Apple
falls down from a tree

In the boats
like sardines
or sheep to slaughter
they worked day and night
burdened by ever spewed commands
scarred back ever bent

The goose
after the blue sky
the gander
sits over
shelled zygotes
the goose will be back

Cornered lion roars
out of pain
or prompted by pride
a position given away
the hunter
alert
in one move
the lion has no breath left

Up that mountain is history
in whose manger
lies a biology
coiled seeking release
about to stretch
Ideology 
says otherwise

But
a particular
dew drop
dries up like a note out of tune
the burdened blade
seeks the warm sun
even that
takes a nap


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