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 May 2014
Geno Cattouse
Night shimmer with a ginned up glimmer.A double palm grip.He bores through my windscreen.
Dead eyed urban zombie.

Chrome flashes.dude hAs,long eyelashes. One face down.my turn comin round. This my friends is  a gangland popper.Wrong place wrong time show stopper.
Who-Bangin
Lead slangin.
Exit 10 East
Transverse colon in the belly of the beast.
One  stop shopping one size
Fits all.
I watch in slow motion as John Doe
Skids ands sprawls.Head buster got im.

Tin Foil wrap or
Rat a tat tat...
I Gotta move.
Real life maybe.
 May 2014
Geno Cattouse
The best laid plans of minuscule precision.
He did cast a giant shadow. To see the pores in pock marked faces  500 hundred yards or more.

To reach across vast fields.
to walk a man down. to take his measure.
the final word said.assured was he that this was the golden moment.

Cross hatches that never lie, to zero.
two clicks right and two clicks high.

never mind spin drift. there was no rift.
The reticle spoke the language of
an eye for an eye as the muzzle let it fly.

Scope relief and slow exhale. The reticle
was on your trail. Would walk you in or lead you out.
adjust for drop a half click skyward.

a click to ease the windward push. do all these things  and 'gently squeeze.
to never hear the tolling bell. to send a soul direct to hell.

The reticle knew his lines and spoke them well. Unblinking through the gates of hell.
Silence now darkness. nestled in repose. lost in foliage.
a hasty leave. No one will grieve the reticles loss.

Silently atop the knoll. sits the reticle.
left behind. forever. never to cast his chilling stare.
ten thousand suns will rise and fall as he looks down from his perch.
Oh how the might have fallen.

Cold steel. is all.
blink. and close an eye.
forever.
This is my take on the snipers. Scope. and the cross-hairs called the reticle. just another topic.
No love one way or the other.
 May 2014
Geno Cattouse
On banks of the Mississippi stood a young man mired...He tied his hopes and dreams to the twinkling distant lights. Lights that danced,that lay a shimmering pathway for him to walk.
Stub of a pencil and creased oily brown paper demanded with loud curses the lines hooks and verses. His guitar groaned and cried.....lamented and waited. She felt discarded while waiting she cried high on the neck."words are fickle but I love you so. So come give me your love,caresses me and I will show the way across the water the shimmering water...destiny fame...destiny demise.

He sat on the banks where big muddy ran deepest,spirits rising from deeper.he sat. He sat at the crossroads praying for sleep.
Where the words did keep counsel with the deepest of the deep...brassy green scale supended.

Judgement for the union of his instrument and his  mind to untangle lyric and chord. Fame still glimered as he.slept.....and wept in deep lament his guitar, she shivered in his warm caresses in the balmy southern fog. They slept.
His fingers did caress her in dreamsleap as the union came. .......He awakened with a start but melody remaimed as he rubbed sleep from his eyes....

Now..now the two did coincide as across her tender body his hands did glide to gently brush across her neck way up high.
The lyrics melted like butter as they grudgingly left his lips .they did depart,amessage rooted in his heart.

The notes rang sweet and.clear from her loving.frame...again an yet again.

The young man walked across the shimmering glass over and.past the Mississippi and into lore and fame.
Robert Johnson meets mussel shoals.

— The End —