His mind was a papery tatter sordid, sick and evil.
He kept a dragon, in a cage, beneath layers of brain.
Down in his cellar he chained up a boy whom he commanded
To write down everything he could think of into poetry…
His parents spoiled him; he was a flower and a blister.
The quiet boy next door type bright eyed wide smile
With an open direct stare harbouring a pure demonology
against everything decent, in need of no justification…
He loathed the psychologist’s spinning wheel
for mice with no calcium of back bone
to keep them rotating amidst the brutal and sure
game of continuation…perhaps he was sick
Everyone is shocked by the talkative boy
Who crushed a hamster, who set a rose on fire
who dressed in womens underwear, who imagined
everyone nude in posture, but they remember…
Everybody is shocked by their shadow.
If you are asked to open your private life
Run or mime: they have never witnesssed
A Demon like yours before…Moloch!