Tuesday, January 19, 2021

Inside a Gun

There ain't nothin'

inside

a gun,

Just black, solid.

 

Like graphite from a wooden pencil, but no trace of shiny silver, anthracite:

Dark night,

Like a charcoal stick from the art supplier, but it don't draw,

 

Like the inside of one of them industrial fuses that you thought was a blasting cap

so you hammered on it and tried to blow it up,

Only to find it full of carbon, inscrutable, sterile, too hard to crumble,

Useful for what?

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