A gun, a mouth,
a hot farewell.
A moment on the lips
and then,
the long missing begins.
After it’s done — in
less than a split
of a second of noting
the start of the roar of
the gun —
after it’s done
is there anything? Regret,
joy? Release, terror, a welcome
blankness?
Insatiable curiosity
is not enough to take me
there and fear is barely enough
to keep me here. I tug
and am tugged but I am
going to wait.
Dark Matter 
June 4th, 2015 at 2:27 pm
Glad you’re going to wait. I would miss your poetry very much. It both awakens me to many things and also often affirms my own experience.
I haven’t found many writers that can do that for me. Thanks for living out loud.
June 4th, 2015 at 2:37 pm
You’re welcome…but I want to stress, again, that I don’t write autobiography. While I battle bipolar disorder and have for many years, I’m managing it well these days and am in no danger of self-destruction at the moment. This is an observation of a moment, and not necessarily my own.