Saturday, February 03, 2007

the slaughter at 116

lifeless and torn

scattered across a dim room

2 or 3 , maybe

4 or


the killer, in despair

inhales and holds,

unsure if a next breath's deserved,

lifts up a victim from the floor, then lets go

rubbing stained fingers up and down bluejeaned thighs

mass murderer of words

mad dog of poetry.

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