Norma Jean Creating Something Out Of Nothing Only To
Your eyes, your concrete eyes. Cross crisscross
my path... Walking in circular patterns. Shoe shine
your ammo, polish your metal. I need not your wicked
weapons. My war is not with someone like you. A
string of blood that is not my own strings between.
Increase time and it will fall into place. a sword
and my heart. So much so that it makes its way through
my throat giving me thought to speak. This becomes my
pistol. This becomes my dagger of my time. Don't sell
out It all comes to. This becomes your future. Unseen
war. Your weapons are useless. Drop the gun. Golden
gun. Like bringing a knife to a gun fight.
