Monday, January 19, 2009


Dead bodies scatter the sidewalk
South Seventh Street is a shooting range
A man smokes a cigarette and looks out of his bedroom window
He takes aim and fires, his air rifle whistles

"I shot the fucking pigeon
I shoot those fucking aerial rats
Im the one shooting those fucking pigeons
Im a harbinger of justice,
pre-post-apocalyptic target practice"

Classic R-n-B quietly plays in my car
I whisperingly sing-a-long, having witnessed the whole thing:
the shooting of the pigeons, the ones he's silently collecting

Cold air & a City Street
Two dead birds

1 comment:

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