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The Assassin

by
 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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