Non-Erotic PoetryGunslingerlift a shot glass
to a grizzled skull
packed with scorpions
and dust.
A sudden movement at the bar
and his iron flashes,
peppering the mirror
with an April shower
of neurons and hemoglobin.
He lights a match,
and the piano player
resumes his piece,
while beneath a cool rock,
a rattlesnake
erupts from its egg.
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