The Murder-Artist

The skilful use of tools
And the application of method
Lead to the miracle dreamt-of and planned.
You will trust me, love me,
Do as I desire.

In the April woods a naked young woman-
A prostitute-
Lies face down under a tree,
Legs pulled wide apart, arms extended forward,
Bluegray fungus spreading over her flesh,
As she merges into the compost,
The killer has planted her thus,face in the dirt,
Her backside and genitals gaping upward,
To be mocked and cursed;
Around her neck is the stocking
He strangled her with,
Tightening and relaxing the pressure
With diabolical skill
To prolong her torture and his pleasure.
Foxes have chewed her legs.

People…I love to watch them,
To figure them out.
Sometimes I feel I know them
Better than they know themselves.
I X-ray their personalities
In a minute or two.
What curious skeletons!

What virus is this
That lives in my veins,mutating,
Surviving all attempts to cure or kill?
I smell the blood-spoor
Of the wounded animal,
My desire, my prey.

Celestial movements
Conduct me to a critical alignment;
A baleful star rises to its zenith.