14 Stories Up
Standing on the very edge of a 14 story
building and the gun's sitting heavy in his
fist and a blue Pontiac is screaming past
on the street underhead and the doomed ring
of ambulances and cop cars and church bells chiming
'cause it's a Sunday, and mass has
just let out and the moment of
strung out immortality hangs suspended in the air
on a string like a brick of words hard to swallow
and it falls from a readily open mouth and
he lets go and I swear to god;
I thought he would fly.
building and the gun's sitting heavy in his
fist and a blue Pontiac is screaming past
on the street underhead and the doomed ring
of ambulances and cop cars and church bells chiming
'cause it's a Sunday, and mass has
just let out and the moment of
strung out immortality hangs suspended in the air
on a string like a brick of words hard to swallow
and it falls from a readily open mouth and
he lets go and I swear to god;
I thought he would fly.
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