Subject: Poetry for the bathroom walls
From: wearp@primenet.com (Wyatt Earp)
Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 08:45:47 GMT

		<click>
Pulling the lever locks the load
in the chamber, ready to go
Pin slams forward into waiting primer
explosive burst in a chemical timer
Metal slug starts moving forward
hot gasses moving it towards
the target -- casing left behind
absorbs all the heat it finds
and ejects ; lost -- useless
Hot metal hits whatever it gets
pointed at , impact flattens lead
round mushrooms, target -- is dead.
Lever is pulled, again it's ready to go.

---

Dirty cities full of metal and concrete
teeming with people, lies, deceit.
Always alone, I stalk the city streets
finding my prey, finding my release
of the trigger.

Metal in heat -- my load flying
down the metal tube -- people dying
Bodies dropping everywhere I go
who they were, what they did, I'll never know
Trapped -- nowhere left to go
I'm alone.

Subject: Re: Poetry for the bathroom walls
From: The Passenger <Passenger@tpass.demon.co.uk>
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 1996 22:03:24 +0100


Sharp shock shatters silence,
reverberations threaten violence.
Bullet pierces veil like paper, 
dances through your body,
a childish caper.

Bullet punches chunks of flesh,
draws nuggets of blood.
You fall back screaming,
drawn deeper into the mud.

The warm embrace of death,
reminiscent of birth.
Your life blood, red,
returns slowly to the earth.

-- 
The Passenger