New poem by TCBH! resident poet Gary Lindorff: Good Night, Gun

My special gun cannot sleep.

My gun is black steel and cold as a stone.

My gun talks to itself in the wee hours.

It has a soul.

It is lonely.

It dreams about hitting the bull’s eye,

Never missing.

Bam-bam-bam-bam, rapid fire.

The smell of gunpowder

Lingers over the dusty street

After a Western shootout.

One bullet through the heart of a terrorist.

Mother approves.

My special gun is Mama’s hero every time.

The third eye of the moon...

For the rest of this new poem by GARY LINDORFF., poet-in-residence at ThisCantBeHappening!, the independent, uncompromised, five-time Project Censored Award-winning online alternative news site, please go to: www.thiscantbehappening.net/node/2966