The Assassin

 The correct death is written in.

I will fill the need.

My bow is stiff.

My bow is in readiness.

I am the bullet and the hook.

I am cocked and held ready.

In my sights I carve him
like a sculptor.
 I mold out
his last look at everyone.

I carry his eyes and his
brain bone at every position.

I know his male sex and I do
march over him with my index finger.

His mouth and his anus are one.

I am at the center of feeling.


A subway train is
traveling across my crossbow.

I have a blood bolt
and I have made it mine.

With this man I take in hand
his destiny and with this gun
I take in hand the newspapers and
with my heat I will take him.

he will bend down toward me
and his veins will tumble out
like children.
.
.
 Give me
his flag and his eye.

Give me his hard shell and his lip.

He is my evil and my apple and
I will see him home.

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