The Smoking Gun Poem Poem by Marcel Aouizerate

The Smoking Gun Poem



You would wait until it had dropped
From the poet's hand before seizing
Upon the evidence.

Then it's hot and reeks of burned powder:
This poem's been loaded and fired
To kill a foe and a lover woe
In a rascal's embrace.

Fingerprints are mine,
Rhymes - absence thereof -
They are mine.

Its tag far exceeds the usual
Exchange rate: for some, a few words
Will summon a thousand pictures.

Saturday, October 11, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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