It took milliseconds
for the bullet to
leave the barrel.
It knew like kingfish
plunging seaward, it knew
of destination.
In that target's
plea for attention
where metal meets
soft tissue, thin plates
of bone, receives its guest,
abandoned what it had
owned and fell.
2 comments:
bullets are murder...for sure....i like your poem
I was offline a long time. It's good to catch up finally with your poems since 21 January. Love them all!
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