chagall backdrop

Like the caricature assailants they shoot up at ranges
I’m riddled with a grouping of golden pellets
right around my heart, a corona of dead-eye shots
unready, aimless, yet fired upon, hollow-head bullets
from your trusty sights, in the short cross-hairs
you are my assassin, the sniper in the tower
watching me downwind, larger than life
in your scope, just a gentle pull, a rat-a-tat
and I’m blown away

© Chagall 2014