Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Imperfect Escape Dream

I wake up on the ground
and the tough guys are coming.
I try to rise
my trigger finger high,
begin to float.
They watch me,
and can't believe it.
But I don't float high,
slip downward as they approach.
Dammit I breathe and
thrust my lungs,
rising out of their reach.
There is a gun,
glinting in the light.
I hope and rise imperfectly,
my trigger finger up.


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