A Portrait of the Killer as a Young Man, fondly remembering “his first”:
janie spilled her wine
tried to fight it
<something not right here>
The Stranger seemed so kind
<dull ache in her head>
blade now dripping
soon she will be dead.
like paraffin wax in a flame
my scars are dripping,
i lay this cumbersome ideology aside…
worship you, only you.
even through the deepness
where the shadow falls on me,
fading light touches skin: shows
there i’ve cut your name
over and over again—
my beautiful ritual of you.
“Drink, drink until your thirst is slaked.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Eat up!” There’s more than enough to go around. What a quantity of food!”
“Enough for seconds…thirds….midnight snacks…”
“Such tasty temptations! Such mouth-watering morsels! Such delightful delicacies! An awesome ambrosia!”
No one could much understand all the blips and bleeps and blurps the aliens were making.
Later we translated it, but by then it was too late.
Our biggest mistake was thinking that the aliens just wanted to be friendly.
Oh, they liked us all right. Parts of us anyway.
Except for the bits they picked out of their teeth.
(file under…”It’s a fucking cookbook, you idiots!)