a gun rises above the crowd it is a flag for some unincorporated feeling many hands reaching for it some to bury it others, to collect, to hold, to gift who here has the courage to fire it?
keep your hand raised if you would stand before it, too is it foolish to save a life?
History will scrub away all but two: the one that killed and the one killed. Let us be nothing together, unmarked dust swirling about the straying feet of murderers and fools vindicators, martyrs, the cruel, the innocent
a gun rises above the crowd they must be so very tall, for it to stand so high, I think there is a color to the air before it goes off
we all wait for the sound
we are standing so close now, and even far off, they are close to one another there
my mind will take this little thing and tear it apart to printed pieces of plastic a community come together for shared invention and none to defend the patent on death
countless fingers pointed upwards towards our doom the sky comes down with the hammer towers over
a gun rises above the crowd this is what we are! foulness and excitement all of our rage put into a bullet and fired away from us will it free them of fear?
tell it your secrets here, it is only an image and can take nothing more
what few weapons enjoy this title a harmless gun
it speaks to me, reminds me again that I do not kill you. You kill you.
I am swept up in the moment the crowd the rush of fear for that thing-which-does-not-kill.
a gun rises above the flood if it is only an image, the sea must be parting to its reflection or so we would imply that a work of man might do the work of god
flee to safety and find purchase atop my form the gun sees, but cannot feel, the steps that wring the life from me
it, too, questions why it was made if we are so eager to do its work
I lose sight of the world and the gun hangs above the doorway to my home
a gun that is a flag I pledge my allegiance to this thing that killed me with a look and nearly by accident,
Particular Words in a Specific Order 
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