by AJ Hayes
I like silk for the job though some say piano
wire works better. Makes the blood come faster.
I suppose they have a point if you're talking
mere employment and efficiency. The blind
squawks of accountants cawing like magpies.
Silk though, is elegant. Smoothly, silently,
sending the subtle vibrations of the last
gasp, the bleak knowledge that this is the instant
you have feared the most made terribly real.
Silk lets me feel those thoughts in my fingertips.
That's why I chose the silk for you my darling.
I let your lover taste the steel. That fat pig with
wealth slobbering down his jowls like grease
made only the weakest of whimpers when
I made his millions irrelevant.
Your heels have stopped their rattling dance.
Your lungs have filled with blood and burst
Your eyes see only the longitudes of infinity.
I do not know what eternity holds for those
who kill the soul nor do I care.
I'll bury you and your piggy boy and the photos
the small brown man I hired brought me, down
there with you both. I'll plant the tree I bought you too.
And in the spring, when the tree bears its multitudes of
silken fruit, I'll eat them all and taste your blood.