there's that dirty old gun

there’s that dirty old gun
rusted at the pin and bullet cage
oh lord the sun burns the eyes
and leaves the smiles on dead canaries

look at how her hips move
like jam in a half empty jar

smuckers and peter pan maladies

she’s too pretty for the easy touch
more like the broken heart
and thorny blades of the rose bush

that’s the words she bleeds
when she’s emptying the gun down on
her knees

oh lord
the sun burns the eyes from this vantage point
can’t you see?

i hear the humping and thumping of mongrels
beasts sharing their dirty parts
for that’s their reprise

for the broken hearts
and my rusty old
son of a gun
it is the solution to boring nights
and empty morning bed sheets

(the stranger is creeping around the corner
outside your apartment your bedroom your security)
(there’s something in his hand
it’s loaded)

bang!
bang!
blow that wretched fuck away!

now that gun of mine
is emptied on the palace steps
of my creamy skinned whore
at the red lock of her pearly gate
and i am going on

there's that dirty old gun

Jason Franklin

Springboro, United States

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

A poem about being dirty and enjoying it. Easy and slow, emptying my chamber.

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