swirling blue

smoking-gun

the loaded gun

I dare not pull the trigger to

this is not a poem about death

it’s about life

it’s about how

though why

hangs before me like a

swirling blue question mark

the question mark on the chest of the poet

who whispered sweet nothings

beside the train tracks

so long ago

full steam ahead

kiss kiss

bang bang

what trigger can

or should be pulled

ask me no questions

and I will tell you no lies

how do you answer how

when you don’t

know why

what other questions are there?

the trigger waiting to be pulled

longing for the ache

of the warm finger

wrapped about it

the explosion of sound

and color

and the

what?

that is another question….

and who?

ah

and when?

you? me?

they can all be questions.

but the answer

that is loaded gun

cocked and waiting

waiting to be answered

your life is calling

and despite the fact that you can’t discern

the question it is asking

you must pull the trigger

or not

it’s your choice

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