Scared by the Dark
Ne Comprends Pas
Real Nice Poem
About The Moon
o'clock: Live With Jesus
Man Who Would
The Hook Man
for Amy Kauffman
the hook man began
on a night like now--
his felt-tip claw inking harsh black reality
as he jotted down passing thought's admission
and gnawed on plastic wrapped slices
of Kraft american cheese, flesh and blood
with the chilled metal scrapings of climax
recoiling horror--torn screaming from the back
seats of teenaged lover's Buicks--parked
in darkness too far deep in his killing woods.
he had murdered defect of love remorse-
his reptile hunger weaving the things to write.
he was the hook man and he giggled as he scratched
the words on the roofs of bleeding cars.