Shut From a Silent Gun
Three shots of whisky, he was in a hurry;
sooner than expected the crowded bar took off,
rocketing blindly into a dark planet.
Outside, the evening was smeared with red sky,
a bleeding light hung like a punctured lung.
Back home
he dabbed his damp eyes, waiting,
his mind wandering thoughtless
inside a humming keyboard.
After a long inert silence
he took a 'cold one' out of the fridge -
flipped himself off.
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