In the Range

Shooting is the action

Aiming is the thought

Shots without an aim

No one gets caught

The clip released

But no cogitate behind it

The trigger pulls but

Doesn’t foresee a deceased

Dismantle shots hit the ground

No predestination makes it

A subtle sound

Mellow- tonic feelings

Released with the sun,

Moon and stars

Celestial peace within

The piece

The glock

The 9 mm

The semi automatic

That seems to revolve around the

Words “blast it”

Blast off

With the millennial celebration

No hat

No confetti

Just anticipating the declaration

For the clock to strike 12

Cinderella already lost her shoe

Red became her bottom

No thanks to Christian Louboutin

Ducking

Weaving

Bobbing

Muhammad at his finest

Don’t want to meet Romeo again

Rather, Clyde

The Smooth Criminal

Who aimed rhythmic like the moon walker

But stung like the bee of the swift boxer

Bonnie she emulated

As she loaded the Vault

Determination reds her eyes

Yearning bleeds her soul

Venom becomes her default

You’re aiming at me

I’m shooting at you

You’re aiming at my head

I’m shooting at your heart

Shooting is the action

Aiming is the thought

Who will get caught?