POEM: Hour Weepin’ of Choice

Not waking up to more gun deaths in , that is the question.

Hour Weepin' of Choice

Here we go agin
A scary weak in
A legion of gun deaths
A nation flush
Too hard
To be number won
Abridge to being
Soully number two
Another fabricated steal
Which doesn't kill itself
It's just
Gas to open fire
Our automatic weepin' of choice
A nation asking for preyers
Weather a lynch pin
Or mirror
A country gone mad
And unremittingly frayed
The hole body politic
Will be pain
The grate accost
Of free dumb

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