Gunhandling

The dark barks..incessantly, as a form
from as far away distance as the kitchen, to a backdrop of direct TV in the front bedroom
of the house I grew up in.

I dodge, the bullets, that would "wound' into me
as I pace my mind over the analysis
of the bullets instead.

Love
is the ficklest, scariest, most contradictory creature;
as magic as it is deadly,
I refrain
from gunhandling while imagining it in my hand, and how heavy the metal would feel; how the bullets and metal would look, how the paper target is perceived, how the shot, itself would go. What the purpose of it is?



I am analyzing bullets
with the mind of the Buddha.
- He is a simple man. a Wise one. Knowledge is mostly just a gut response with a life-full of thought around it.

I mean...
     I'm sort of in love with Life;

says this girl who battles suicidal thoughts upon days and days of chronic pain, and mere beg for release.

"sort of in love with life" might explain a lot of things-

things like the bi-polar love and hate of just what it is, love
     is and brings,
what
     it is and brings.

I am afraid, because my heart already set sail....and I am simply trying to manage a ship I'd known I'd surrendered control over.

I fear, the worst;
A voyage doomed.

I love him...
like seeing the Sunrise of the Hawaiian shores; an ocean's view, looking back as perception towards foaming sands, and twilight hues.
I love him like Heaven's singing the song of my life...
and him walking in tune; Silence is brilliantly melodic
and when I met you, we shy-ed to the cue; a melody like sweep,
I was afraid to believe
That you might so seemingly, be hearing it too.

I dodge wounds like bullets, and bullets like wounds.
It attacks me, I try to see it.
love it.
Leave it.

It challenges me, and I sniff.
I pace, tail out, cat indeed.
I learn very quickly,
but am forced to heed;

but I always knew I loved you.
And I was afraid to admit what I knew would be true;
I have a knack for these things.

I saw it coming, and gave up long ago.
as tempted as I am again now.

still...
maybe simply I can not.
Afraid to lose,
and then afraid to lose...

I calculate around how
I'm afraid to lose...

but step out now.

I step out,
like a quick slow motion on a busy highway;
step out and watch them drive by, the bullets and analysis, like
wounds and trains.

"Fuck" is the word of the day,
she says shaking her head, to herself, the smile of curiosity already sealing a deed.

I am the bullet train,
and the train is me.
Slight, slight it to will,
but I do not will to Love him...
simply, fuck, that I do.
simply,
I do.

Gunhandling.