“Life in the hive puckered up my night
A kiss of death, the embrace of life
There I stand ‘neath the Marquee Moon
Hesitating”

The rain always makes it easier.
They come out distracted.
Cold. Wet. Rushed.
They never see it coming.
And I know he won’t see me
coming as he stumbles out into
the street like an offering from the universe.

Petrichor. I am a child again.
I close my eyes and breathe it in.
This night is alive.
I feel its pulse like a warm hand on my back.
The seconds swarm around me and
for a brief moment time is mine.

Every second Tuesday I receive an
envelope marked like a phone bill and
in that envelope are a name and an address
printed on a sheet of paper.
I memorize the name and the address
and then I burn the envelope and
the sheet of paper.
I don’t ask questions.
Questions invoke uncertainty,
they’re signs of life and I
deal in the certainty of death.

I deal in the Future as Form.
I deal in perfect convergence,
every variable in place,
and sheer future waits
for me outside of this car.

This night is an immaculate dream.
He floats in front of me, soundless,
like essence escaped from the Monad.
There is so much rain I dissolve in it.
I am in every drop.
I am the water coursing down
his neck as he walks under a
light and into the darkness
of an intersecting street.

There is so much rain he doesn’t hear me as I come
up behind him with this cold gun in my hand.
I am a shadow with shadows of thoughts.
I have the blue sky in my heart and
it guides my eyes and my arms and my
fingers as I give him an eternity of night
in a single motion.

I used to think about them,
about their final thoughts,
the end of the causal chain,
but I stopped asking questions.
He twists and falls on his back.
He isn’t moving. I can’t see his eyes.
The rain always makes it easier.