The Sniper & The Unseen

The Sniper & The Unseen

{Black Angels}


just left of center;

in the crosshairs:

an exorcism being performed

by some old world, secret society


though the tempo

of the assassin’s heart

may heighten or swallow

into a dirge

the perfect spacing between beats

never fails.

the bead of sweat on a culture’s psyche

billows in the heated Texan guitar twanging

flames of Hell.

he is about to put

a chasm in her soul

and fill it: pouring a porridge

of purgatory in.

the wicked whores of industry

dance like wolves controlled

from a lower chakra

gripped by a fist of Ganesha,

remover of obstacles, and

shaken like a child’s toy

in his fury with the toy

he thrashes it until all

of the assassins spill out:

choking the veil of humanity, innocence

like ocean birds in an oil spill.

the hissing expiration

of our death rattle,

jerking back and to the left

becoming just another stitch

of static in the cosmos.

the constant maintenance

of the power mechanism

means there’s a bullet to

put into every brain.

the witch hunt is only misdirection

so you don’t discern

the real demigods,

cloaked by the devil you know, ministering

to the suffering.

Note: As with many of my poems, this was initiated or inspired by a piece of music. In particular, this piece came out of “The Sniper” by The Black Angels from their album Phosphene Dream. Here’s a live version:


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