"music of the empty chamber," a story by David Rossman

...i loved...all this...so i always lived...in the negative...space...i knew...the perforations...but i didn't...get...what paper was...because i lived...in the wounds...in the woods...i wandered...but i wondered...what it was...to be unwounded...only i...understood...the hole...where the bullet...had gone...through...the whole time...i was...the emptiness inside...the barrel...of the gun...it was...all potential...so i only...knew the secrets...that were...open...since i was...an open...secret myself...when i was...standing out...in plain sight...i was what was...in my hat...when my head...wasn’t there...so what...was...in my head...when the bullet...passed out...through the back...of my skull...that made me...feel so very...disembodied in the crater...after the explosion...that settled...the dust...on the remains...of the trees that grew there...with their leaves stripped...from the woods pulped...for paper...going for words...but the perforations...that were...like my dark parts...in that light...i felt...but i never touched...the shadows...that played...on the dashboard...moment to moment...mile...after mile...until i saw...the play stop...when i entered...the tunnel...where the blackout...of white noise...faded...to a clean state...freshly erased...or was it rubbed...out...of the white whole...that bordered...the black...star...treatment with...no smudges or prints...but that left traces...of a wash...after the long fast...river ran...dry...on the line...of my life...this time...it slipped...by...my love...because it was...a slip...of a thing...i cut...out of it...so i...took it out...with my gun...when it was...lost...like a ghost...ship...or an empty...vessel...if it whistled...when it left...the barrel...in the dark...hold...the hatch door...open...will you...for me...oh my captain...of the lost...colony...was mostly invisible...as if...even the natives...didn’t see me...as the missing...person lover...let me...down...into the night...with my gun...in my empty...hands...opening my...mind...the bullet...ripped through...the paper...and made...my last...words ring...hollow...out...in the wild...wood...the shade...of night...fell into...my head...space...under my hat...the ringing...was all...that was left...of me...so i killed...the music...i took out...the light...but the song...remained...at the grave...mistake...i made...a hole...deepening...my worry...in that pit...in the gut... that sinking...feeling...my way...inside...the barrel...under...the trees...seeing inside...the one eye socket...filled with...nothing...but air...or white...light...as the wind...closed...over the space...the bullet...once occupied...collapsing...over it...making music...answer...my riddle...the one i asked of...the empty...chamber...behind the barrel...near...the trigger...for...i loved...