Gun Of Blank Poem by James McLain

On hands and knees, I stare through glass
so glazed of memories, inside.
It lays there, safe inside behind the crowned
metallic black of night..that waits blue keeps......
I cannot bring myself to unlock, the magic,
waiting to bleed across this, very short distance.
My hand lifts too a violation, of all they who were
slandered upon the yoke I cannot wait.
coiled around the tounge of breath, a taste of metal
coppers breast brown hollowed tips..
I take the key again hapless, unlocking memories
best left in the hollow tube, unspent lest the bite
once again, render me blind, unable to taste.
Reaching through, into the warm fluid of safty,
I swallow gallons swimming, while seeing bright
flashes often of you.
The loud report, is not news, it has been building, as
hurricanes do that never pass.
Hot searing foreign invisable, a punched hand drags
me out, expelled onto the floor, movement of debility
unconscious, premiered a last unasked breath, spent
awash,
in a small pool of blood leafless, blind...like snow..