Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Flaming gun

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I remember at our school paper there was a column called The Gunslinger. I don’t really remember what kind of commentary the columnist dished out (political, campus-based, social, etc), or whether its criticism cut to the quick. I guess only the name and its suggestive imagery stuck.


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I’m still told that someday somebody will stab me for my sharp tongue. Believe me, these days I rarely reveal my holster. You won’t even hear a click.


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Even if there always seems to be smoke.


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I don’t know what it is about my shoes or the way I walk, but I still manage to surprise people behind their backs.


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Or from the front. 


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I prefer things that way: peaceful and hushed.


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Every real menace creeps in the night. Or only glints in the sun.


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Five steps ahead, two reactions too late.


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I have shed skins so often, you wouldn’t know what form I’ll take.


T-shirt and belt, Izzue
Jeans, Uniqlo
Trainers, Helmut Lang
Guns & Goons necklace, Bosquejo


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