A Theory to Control the Gun

when the hunter turns his back to face the sun
the kitten cannot contend 

in the sixties he was a child of  love, peace, and sitting games
adding twelve more stitches in the thread

we know now that tomorrow will be eighty-nine and rainy—happy summer says smiling Kansas         
.506127 his memory stores and repeats, .506, but not the same

resulting in butterfly flaps of wings, easy pray for her, Katrina
as conditions initially depend, a hand relaxes on the weapon—keeping his grip sensitive

impossible predictions indicate two inches off, sticking to his guns when
water wheels release-drop and press buttons, controlling with their index fingers of time

reverse rotation reloads smooth inventing double spiral’s
that open trails with no extra movement

un-periodic points don’t cover so he refills behind a wall
bifurcations emerge, repeat order, bend elbows and whip

infinite lengths surround finite areas with targeted detox dating back to 1.26, but
4.669 is the best aimed round to slow down dusty rocks, little southern mountains built of disclaimers left inaccurate in their similarities of self

a universal revelation, two rounds too late


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