The murderer is beautiful, and with a deep-sea ugliness.
Our hunting fire howls on the plateau framed in an office.
The man is a chair sat in by gargoyles and bedwetting angels.
His murderer pays my moderate rent to God, plotter of croaking.
The medicine I need would fill a megacity
Of mating dogs creaming for children bored as eels.
I had wanted wolves and less than this.