Crosshair

Chamber a word—
thumb “confluence” into line
and before it, “our mortal”
the hammer shot forward
with the force of “My lips require. . .”

Then stand there
blindfold slipping from one eye,
and be my William Tell overture.

As spent syllables
fall and roll
a golden bullet caught in your teeth.

That is how you do it.
That is how to take me down.