Inslumnational Underground
I fired a gun, full force, and flayedThe flesh from bone. I further fired
The bone until it turned pellets
And used them further for bullets.
The gun became a part of me.
My right limb transformed completely:
My index and middle finger
Became nozzle. The rest? Trigger.
Don't pull the thang out,
Unless you plan to bang
I crossed the land searching for bone
And meat to eat, but mostly bone.
And all who came before my sight
Looked at my limb and kissed goodnight
Looked at the nozzle and forgot
Their God as triggers pushed brought forth
A medley of warm blood on sand
The vultures licked in sarabande.
Don't even bang unless
You plan to hit something
Some chased. Most fled. All died. My flesh.
Mostly metal. This point. My self.
Mostly a gun. My eyes = Nozzle.
My mouth = Trigger. Blood I guzzled.
Bone I chomped on then pointed limbs
At sky. Blood red. I saw no glimpse.
I saw nothing at all. Just sound.
When bullets pushed bodies to ground.
Power music electric revival
Power music
electric revival
Power
music
electric
revival
Poetry by Sameen
Read 6 times
Written on 2026-06-23 at 03:42
|
Albert Vynckier |
| Texts |
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