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The Born Again Slasher Killer
Folder:
Twisted Branches wielding in hand his
traditionally favored tool
his circumcision of the truth
is a strange, self-pleasing task
through the thickets in the path
he travels back to mere infancy
burrowing in under his youth
then cutting away the past, thoroughly
though,
to the rest of the world
it'll live on in infamy
the born again slasher killer
does what he's always done:
carry on guilt-free
Despite the poem's brevity,
Despite the poem's brevity, the chilling description it provides (with a backstory that, left undefined, adds to the chill) is delightfully frightening, especially at this time of the year. And, in poetry, that is always a difficult effect to accomplish, so I applaud your achievement here. I dislike the title, as the phrase "born again" is important to some of my fellow believers (I like Claudel's term, "co-religionists") in a way that makes its attachment to the term "slasher killer" inappropriate . . . but that is only a personal response, and in no way questions the poem's artistry, especially the open-ended possibilities suggested by that final line.
Starward
Thank you, sir. And I do
Thank you, sir. And I do understand. It's not my art to offend, and when I must, it is never merely for the sake of offense, but rather to reveal a contradiction. But the title here stems from the literal and real (this was based on a seaming together of serial killers who found god in prison), so it wasn't meant as a slight against a christian's belief in rebirth, but rather a adianoeta to open the door to address the pyschology of the muse. Thereby, please don't take any offense. But your response does further the conversation about how individuals can potentially manipulate a sincere idea for their own purposes.
No offense taken whatsoever,
No offense taken whatsoever, and I liked the poem very much.
Starward
I'm glad, on both accounts.
I'm glad, on both accounts.
Deep and stirring
I love the various viewpoints
this poem sends thru signals
of your nuanced narration.
There's a skill of perspective:
Between the so-called "killer"
and "the rest of the world"
there is a bunch to think about,
like our place as people in
the judgement of the infinite.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitues
Thank you, sir. I'm pleased
Thank you, sir. I'm pleased that these words hit your recieving satellites. Let me add that the way you comb through poems, studying each individual strand, is an artform all it's own.