15 Rounds

15 rounds across a streetlet loose to fly for reasons lost to you and Iand aimed at no specific threat exceptone boy who lived on that small slipstuck out his neck by lousy luck into its gripand there a bullet found a path so soft and warmit slipped right in and out across andmissed by hairs the wispy strands of nervethe stringy spinal cordjust past the rock hard bones of spineand stretchy sheaths that course with bloodand out below the matter of his mindthe pink and gray and squishy stuff wheresouls are housed and thoughts arise.

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