A Cellarful of Nose - Future Shoes

Your wickedness being dispersed
You are the worst
And these are only words, not bullets
Be angry and sin not
When you see something bad coming
You should stop, turn around
And go the other way
Bastard; you said it about yourself
Help us locate the children locked away
But don't tell us about a boy's death in poem
Again, like it was your original idea
You feel only a prick, not the stab
Of a boy's passing
The crumpling of the parents
What is sweetness and horror on one page
What is sweet about murder and rape
Mysterious man
Mess-making machine
Render of night
Who still can't make art worthy of admiration
Only sick words.
Again not funny, but true
You are a remainder
A dirty garment tucked under knees
Eager for instruction and keen for meaning
About evil
You sleep on your hands
Atoning for numerous crimes and greedy indignities
You sleep on your hands
To stop yourself from killing again
For when you are gone
And even your molecules are gone
In that blink of time
When a day is as a thousand years
A million years later you will still be guilty
Unresolved in that giddy sprawl of green
Father God is capitalized
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