Cocaine

All you have

to do

is:

bend down

swirl your leg

in an elegant arc

when it connects

to his spine

to the kidney

his hair

jolts, the knife

flies like

cartilage,

or in one vaulting

spiral

you saddle his

shoulders

neck between

your legs

you ride his strangling

face down

like what the book says

on the cover

You’re in

a suit, short hair:

ready for it

fingers jammed lethal

Tonight the knife

is real

the books live

your mind

has turned

or you’re somewhere else

entirely, restaurant

elbows rooted

to the table

as you look

down

bled eyes

wondering

whether the base

of your spine

is disappearing behind

you

and he is here

and he is now

and he is king

and the rest of the week

is yours