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Assassin
Assassin
How do you
Seek me
In vintage
Cities?
When I fall
Apart in towns which
Are not on the
Maps?
I swallow lost atlases
And acacias.
How do
I consume the
Jar of your home-made
Sunshine?
You curtsy before
The dark gods under
New moon.
But when have violent
Young lovers
Thawed latent, ice-cold
Love?
You carry me
Like branches in
An angry
River.
Sharp undercurrents, foul
Algae; should
You sell
your soul
To buy bliss?
You carve my
Name on
White oak with your
Fingernails.
I walk, indifferent, into
The streets of
Vulgarity.
Those Scandinavian
Cottagers
Call me an anti-goddess,
An antidote to
Happiness.
I make love to strangers,
But I shriek like a
Graveyard wind when
The thundercloud
Of love
Chortles.
They call me their
Calamity.
But I guffaw
Heartily— Am I not my
Own assassin?
