Killer At The Edge Of The Frame

Fixing his hair in the gleam of a knife,
in the backdrop of an early scene. He’s
ready to make his name with this,
face splashed up on the crimson screen.
The knife, the saw, the sharp-thin wire,
the gun, the spear, the house on fire,
he may be insane but he’s not a liar,
he’s just the judge, but we are the jury,
and the verdict is death, gory and hurried,
and he knows all your sins, you gluttons,
your lusts, your drugs, the breasts at the 11:05 mark,
and there’s only one hero left alive in this place,
to let slip the truth like a maddened dog,
before sinking, at last,
back where he belongs.

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