A Brief Gun Unregistry

  “Go bach to where you come from. We should have bought you anyway” —from online somewhere, November 2014

1.

Hole my ears, hole them till there’s nothing left to hear, I dare you. The heart of entryways and loopholes with law-full matters, you a-hole of a hole of righteous indignation. You hole of contempt and paranoia. You hold a stick so limp nothing shoots. Hole by hole you a—hole Winchester on my martin holed by ignorance, how dare you.

2.

I’m hole because of you, you who I will repay in kind, holing name, height, rank, state and colour. I am holed in your effing halo. Event horizon of crushed matter, blood and angry express this red contempt staining my good whiteness. You are the a—hole for walking right into me, through my world and my country founded by my grandfather, not showing me the respect I own. I am own—I am owner—I am owed the taxes used to lift you from the gutter you effing thankless colour. My piece holes you back.

3.

Holes in the polytechnic hall because it is December and these holes have sucked up all my oxygen. Holes of a classroom full of living and breathing life. The holes that need to be shut because they have holed my life with emptiness so it is my holy rite to shut them down.

4.

Because you had a knife; because I saw you walking with a knife; because I can stop you with holes because you wouldn’t stop but with every bullet kept moving and because you had the power of evil to eat my holes and hold the knife I holed you nine times. Not three times, not six times but nine times because you ate them; you turned the holy fire of my gun into resisting my orders to drop the knife.