Thursday, January 05, 2006

Hover

We talk.
We smile.
Meanwhile
minds eye glints
down blue iron
riflesights
to your forehead
minds ear hears
oiled coldsteel
bolt
slide smooth
push firebright brass
cartridge
into chamber and
clackchunk
precisely shut.
Minds smoky fingers
hover
undecided
near the trigger.
We talk.
We smile.

5 comments:

C said...

I hope it wasn't something I said...

Fingers said...

Gory...
What trigerred this, Coyote?

coyote said...

It's all imagination. Too, I don't think all poems should be about warm fuzzy things, y'know? They should be about everything. Have you ever been in a room with somebody you really, really don't like? I know I should be a more tolerant coyote, but some people seem to be such a total waste of the planet's oxygen. And while I stress that I would never do this in real life -- I'm a pacifist -- in the occasional long meeting, sometimes a rogue thought occurs...

100hands said...

Oh.

coyote said...

Or possibly I was experiencing a sick revenge fantasy whilst talking with an ex-girlfriend I had once really loved, after an appllingly bad breakup.... but I gather that in these post-modern feminist days, admitting that out loud might be a bit reprehensible...