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"When The Smoke Clears"
In the Scope of crosshair and skull bones
itchy metaphor's twist in the wind
waiting for the trigger to finds its autograph
The bloodhounds gather round the riverbend
knowing blood curls from wounds shot from a distance
at Point Blank Range
You can hear shrieks of an early celebration
if you listen to the pages turning
as whispers leave bite marks behind in crisp precision
They know the bullet is locked and loaded
Silver and Black casing
heart piercing
soul burning
Just calculating the right verse to send home
There will be no Christmas in alley's this year
unless you want to count pizza deliveries crossdressing
with straws floating downstream in spaghetti soup
or chinese takeout fights in rings of garbage bins
where the only winners are the one's standing beneath lamposts
pushing tin to strippers
going home the back way to see which Santa
wants to trick their night away
Side by side, hand in hand as Always
Then the smoke of an afterthrust of past content
Perfect aim
straight into her heart
He lay fallen
the King is dead
Long Live the Queen
and the parade began
