at your temple a revolver mouth
in the middle of the night

and you know you are to be shot
into the boundless eternity

because there is a border around your voice
an accent that belongs to just one place

an accent not shared by the mouth of the gun
that will leave you as a chunk of meat

beside a road
that goes nowhere

because all directions have come to an end in your case

I am filled with self-pity and terror
as I pull the trigger