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the Child
Folder:
NINE POEMS It slips through space
Guided by will and tenfold tension torque and
thrust
Surprising
How very little sound it makes
When it slips into his breast
A tiny little
squelching noise
like an over-ripe pear hitting a wall in the very next room
a swift sharp and solitary Intake of breath
a million small betrayals scream "who done it?"
Oh the eyes,
and still
as the body cools
pooling burgundy regrets upon the hardwood floor
aged and wizened by just such nights as these
monkey joy
Killing for profit is Fun and Easy
