The Million Dollar Poetry Project

A Certain Line of Work

by Wolfgang Nibori

He was a leather-clad ghost. Stood beneath a bare bulb.
That single image reflected in his mirrored sunglasses.
Not much on his mind for he was only passing time
A minimum of thinking always saw him through
Paint peeling off the walls, cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air
In five more golden minutes the door would echo with a knock
No need to check the well-oiled submachine gun under his coat
Lovingly loaded long before, the safety set firmly off
The knock set him in fluid motion, opening the door to another addict
All Big Men kept kennels of these shaky, sweating Go Betweens
In the same way Satan sends demons on small errands
Paper passes hands, the Go Between stutters gratitude uneasy
Our shaded man of arms speaks in dry whispers, "Get lost, rat."
Thick wad of bills as half payment along with a photo and address
He memorizes faces and locations within seconds in his clear mind
Down the dirty hallway to the street by the deadly rhythm of his boots
Off to score one more hit to keep a killer high from fading
Another night in his endless bender for a junkie hooked on Death

This poem for sale: $18.00 - contact GlowStormLion (a-t) HappyHorror.com

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Pull the Trigger, Look Away

by Wolfgang Nibori

scope swings gently, i’m steadying the barrel
through glass shadows pass as swallows feeding
if there’s wind I’m unfeeling, focused by tension
weapon as arrow, I am the bow, tight force compression
scent of quarry pulls me, i refuse to move, reluctant to breathe
oh, I see what I’m after, I admit escape remains possible
thrilling power of time-control causes me to linger
even the roar of aircraft overhead drops below attention
i want a last moment to record final gestures
images to remember so later i can forget
i unplug you from civilization, society, our species
disconnect roots, background, beliefs or qualities
in my scope i pronounce you guilty, hereby deserving
the only judgement i’m allowed to pass
with this bullet i thee wed
my enemy to the process of death
nothing personal, bon voyage
in peace may your ghost forever rest

This poem for sale as part of the Million Dollar Poetry Project: $18.00 (18 lines)

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