LIFE BY THE WAYSIDE

no one else can solve them, inkblot art with added detail

He sits
waiting for something
sniper-eye steady
patience unfailing
and in purpose
ever ready.

Bird feed
and windchime diversion
at home
aside the heavily-forested
where distant coyote whine
reminds
of pack mentality
he can no longer ascribe to.

This wilderness
billed
solitary perfection
bed down for an existance
he wished
never existed.

He sees
like scope-out tracking
ghost
hellbent on hijacking,
transporting man
to distant memory
this paradise
won’t pull him from.

And shame,
he starts,
where soft touch
meets heavy smile
gruesome
gun-powder striking
pulling taunt cheeks
and stopping
before it reaches his eyes – –

it passes
as peace is a wave
occasionally rolling
light, soft,
and calming
but always moving
retreating
and as he perceives it
never
intent on returning.

So he sticks
to what he knows
best.

He sits
sniper-eye steady
like buzzard gaze
over a killing field
patience unfailing
and always
always ready.

“For what?”
“It’s nothing.”

Nothing.
Nothing?
OK.

Bang.

Jillian wrote this.

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