Category Archives: Poetry

Killer #3: Janie ’99

A Portrait of the Killer as a Young Man, fondly remembering “his first”:

tipsy, tripsy

shadow slipsy

janie spilled her wine

tried to fight it

<something not right here>

The Stranger seemed so kind

drowsy, ow-sy

feeling lousy

<dull ache in her head>

gripping, ripping

blade now dripping

soon she will be dead.

Scars

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

scar tissue—

there i’ve cut your name

over and over again—

my beautiful ritual of you.

Killer #2

Photo by Gabriel Millos

“Get your kicks” the song said,

On Route Six-Six. Instead:

She lost her pretty head…

And now she’s very dead.

And the birds will follow…

Photo by Richard Bartz

in the trenches

the stench of the dead is

overwhelming,

and the poor boy can’t move…

can’t move…

legs shot to shit

he fades

in and out

of consciousness…

the last time he came to

it was to see a crow

perched on the remains

of one of his ruined stumps.

it cawed happily

as it pecked at flesh

and muscles

and tendons

while the boy threw up and

knocked the goddamn bird

across the

foxhole.

then he blacked out again

and the bird came back.

they always do.

they surround the trenches

by the hundreds

and thousands,

and wait their turn

to feed on the dead

or the nearly dead,

whose screams drown out

the machines of war

and the constant sound of gunfire.

then the war moves on,

piling up more for the carrion crew,

and the birds follow…

they always do.

Killer #1

screams pierce the silence

his hands…trembling, unsteady

blood drips from the knife


Feed

“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!)