high noon

i’m a gunslinger

poet,

ready to retire.

my pony is blind.

i have no time,

to share my pistol,

with virgins.

so he tied up his balls.

dropped to his knees.

straightened his tongue.

and recited my poems,

like the alphabet.

i made up words,

and licked them

from his lips.

my trigger finger,

lubed him

with a sonnet.

he had been used

before today.

i like ‘em like that.

bang, bang.

i filled him

with lead.

smiled above him,

i still have it.

i killed another poem.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s