The artists of Hell
set up easels in parks
the terrible landscape,
where citizens find anxious pleasure
preyed upon by savage bands of youths
I can't believe this is happening
I can't believe all these people
are sniffing each other
& backing away
teeth grinning
hair raised, growling, here in
the slaughtered wind
I am ghost killer.
witnessing to all
my blessed sanction
This is it
no more fun
the death of all joy
has come.
Do you dare
deny my
potency
my kindness
or forgiveness?
Just try
you will fry
like the rest
in holiness
And not for a
penny
will I spare
any time
for you
Ghost children
down there
in the frightening world
You are alone
& have no need of other
you & the child mother
who bore you
who weaned you
who made you man
