Guns in Bæst
For Guns, wherever you are.

Darling and so gentle; gentle as a darling
arm around a hollow holiday body, or
head nods in heady rainy nights, cursing.

I found Guns, in Bæst, with a posh pizza,
spilling guts, a pink heart, glinting bright,
blunt as a palm mute; sway, as if eternal,

but where did Gunhild go? Who knows?
Synth notes, dear odes, cigarette smoke;
I still shed tears, true, blue, for the beauty.