There’s A False Gun

By Joe Hall / Issue 3

There’s a false gun, the off-camera trigger, a false spray

Of blood—Hung on an axis a spear is two stars probing

Its side in another life? With lip gloss somehow? The last

Piece of carbon paper Eucharist on some

Other tongue or ravenous representations’

Dwindling supply of woodsplitting recluse artists naked in the moonlight

Wrestling with a dwindling supply

Of warehouses to convert to lofts

Imitatable third world ritual, dwindling

Supply of bad-ass mother fuckers, of lists

To draw of things remembered

Of unexhausted ambiguous myths

Stance of poverty eroded into want and sickness

Less and less until the field reverses

Joe Hall’s first book of poems is Pigafetta Is My Wife (Black Ocean Press). The editors of Gulf Coast, HTMLGIANT, Rooms Outlast Us, Barrelhouse, Versal, Octopus, and other journals were kind enough to feature his poems and essays. He co-organizes the DC area reading series Cheryl’s Gone with Wade Fletcher. Other online work can be found at joehalljoehall.wordpress.com.