DETECTIVE WORK
Only God knows.
Fuck God. Horny
Marauder. I disarmed
God eons ago but
I have been blessed
With X-ray vision.
All the better to ogle
Your boobs
Though it’s motive I see
Glaring through hotbeds
Of rose mallow
Blaring past foghorns
Of hickory smoke.
Theories sound
As any scientist’s
I uncover proof
You can’t bear
To look at.
Bright, beckoning.
Ultramarine.
Nature vs nurture?
Meh. Murderous intent
Seeped into human cells
Eons ago.
Kill To Live.
It’s not just a prison tatt.
Powerful and incisive poem Heather. Of course, it makes more sense to me, now that I’ve read more of your works (like Wonderland, and its contexts) and better appreciate your use of staccato word play of spiked heels. A video poem of this? Now that would be a somewhere’s someday’s moment.