KILLER
Wanted dead or alive, keeping company
with bedposts and bar-girls, spinning
a six-gun under his covers. Let us find
ways to reach him. Writing in cities
to people in the country, while sending
letters too from the country to the town.
He's a voracious sidewinder of subterfuge
and disguise. And though I'd know him
anywhere, I'd have to see his eyes -
the eyes that have killed, those eyes
which look past the pinpoint aims at the
end of the barrel. The Rook at the head
of a chessboard sweep - really nothing
so valuable, and nothing we'd keep. String
him up, in your imagination of course, for
he only gets down again and can ruin -
certainly - any day you may have.
Free is nothing. The task is simply
in staying alive.
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