I’m in a graveyard with a charged ray gun, aiming it at vacant headstones
I’ve not pulled the trigger once, and there are kinks in my arm and a sway to the barrel’s direction

My dusty coat
Is stroked in a muddy mixture of
Prismatic gamma glow
And lunar reflections

Pivoting about on a single spot nestled amidst the non-terrestrial limbs of starved trees and thorn riddled undergrowth, somewhere far from the path in which I entered

I’m completely alone, hence the self centred tense of these written observations
And inexorably engrossed in the targets linear to my gestures