ripping bullets out of the pavement

the gunman wore a neon green uniform
he stood steadily, legs apart, gun pointing upwards
nail marks were engraved into his forehead
the blood streamed from the wound
blinding him and sending him into fits of slippery coughs

with reason applauding his motives
he pointed downwards
and would only pause firing
when he was happy with the speed
the skulls we surfacing from their graves

every once in a while
he’s stop to reload
and shake the hands of the dead
as they emerged from the ground

dusting off the earth
and grinning at his efforts
they took his gun
held him down
and shot him
into an unrecognisable heap