Journal of the Eight gunshots

In the glue blue shadow in
          the whole in the sky
In the shower of night and morning
in the               power to let it be

In the second thought in
the hallways of back-seat rides in
          the cab of total rejection
was a reason to find
                                        truth

Everything first registers as noise
The second after the shots were fired I
labeled them fired.

Everything after that is coincidence

*          *          *          *