Amass your weapons you have mismapped me Sir.
I must ask that you now draw a bead on my heart.
I am armed & arrayed I am bellicose dreadnaught
feme sole I am formally fierce & feral & she
who was formerly penitent & contrite
was me but is not me no not I I am not quite
that quiet nor pale nor lost little darling nor your wife
Who wears her balaclava better
than the moon snail? Kiss by kiss
she drills through shell and makes her meal—
She’s after the meat, though, not the pearl—
I’m here for the body and the girl
I used to be; X marks the marksman
& the maker of this game.