when dillinger
fired a
machine
gun burst
he acci
dentally
shot a
crow
then the
dead
bird fell
into the
weeds
near him
& its
blood
splashed
into his
shadow
Filed under: Todd Moore
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when dillinger
fired a
machine
gun burst
he acci
dentally
shot a
crow
then the
dead
bird fell
into the
weeds
near him
& its
blood
splashed
into his
shadow
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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i love
poems
where the
lines
look like
shattered
heming
way
sen
tences
the words
& syl
lables
hang
down
the page
like long
black
fuses
waiting
for
matches
they
dream
you will
light
them
they
want to
fuck
you up
good
Filed under: Todd Moore
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i love
poems
where the
lines
look like
shattered
heming
way
sen
tences
the words
& syl
lables
hang
down
the page
like long
black
fuses
waiting
for
matches
they
dream
you will
light
them
they
want to
fuck
you up
good
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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frito stopped
the money
count &
sd why
the fuck
do you
like shot
guns so
much es
pecially
the sawed
offs the
dutchman
broke his
scattergun
open slid
in 2 shells
& snapped
it shut
then used
the barrel
to scratch
his face sd
it’s that
way they
tear up
the blood
Filed under: Todd Moore
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frito stopped
the money
count &
sd why
the fuck
do you
like shot
guns so
much es
pecially
the sawed
offs the
dutchman
broke his
scattergun
open slid
in 2 shells
& snapped
it shut
then used
the barrel
to scratch
his face sd
it’s that
way they
tear up
the blood
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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Lily And Bob
Bob was back
in the corner
by the juke box, his
shotgun propped
up against the
machine. No one
had noticed him
coming in the back-
door. Lily was serving
some rowdies at the
front table. I’d been
watching the Reds kick
the shit outta the
Cubs on the black
& white at the
end of the bar.
And if I hadn’t
turned when Jerry
asked for another beer,
I [...]
Filed under: Doug Draime
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what haunted
dillinger
more than
anything
else was
the eye on
the pave
ment
during
the shoot
out in
mason
city
iowa it
kept
watching
him
while he
fired
the ma
chine gun
Filed under: Todd Moore
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what haunted
dillinger
more than
anything
else was
the eye on
the pave
ment
during
the shoot
out in
mason
city
iowa it
kept
watching
him
while he
fired
the ma
chine gun
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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burning
houses my
old man
sd licking
a drop
of whiskey
off the
back of
his hand
you can’t
beat them
for drama
the way
flaming
timbers fall
across a
sofa or a
kitchen
sink clouds
of sparks
shooting
out the door
some nights
i sleep in
fire i always
walk in
smoke
Filed under: Todd Moore
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