May 4, 2016
It was there when I woke,
between two clock hands-
the bullet fired, containing
part of me when I drifted
through two warring bands.
I had to accord with damned
genocide, then slide the moon
down a barrel of a gun and wait,
here it is above the ranch, I have
my hands on the horns of cattle, death
has his hands on the sun and moon.
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