Daily poetry from Brianna Dawn.

gunslinger

i had a western style showdown
with the moon, across town
he swung open the saloon doors
poured out some moonshine,
i watched it roll across the floor
before taking the shot glass
filling it up with stars from
the celestial mason jar, picking
them out from the tar-colored
sky – your polluted clouds smell
of cigarette ash, the moon drawled
then left, riding the shadows of the sun
into the sunrise

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