William Conley Lowrance
After Firing The Shot
The dirt beneath the stones is filthy & frantic.
The branch cast on the ground sweats slowly in the grass.
Static radiates from windows with a harsh hum
as cats howl—celebrating my success.
O darling—life here is so winding & cruel.
These sounds in my ears no longer come from my lips.
But I know what I’ve done, with my skin dead & flaking.
I know what I’ve done—with my life so very young.