he knew of the evil he heard
he thought nothing of it
he preached it be fiction
be slander
be falsehoods of malice intent
be against his angel draped in fur
be it death so soft,

he knew of the evil he saw
he wore shades with his violet suede jacket
he was blind to the violence
be it the ball & chain of those before him
be it his fate to lay in the stray dog's bed
be it his turn to tip the glass of wine
be it blood spilled,

he knew of the evil he spoke
he stands in memory in lust-lined letters
he wrapped his chords around it, beating
he ripped it out slowly in greed & wrath
be it a reminder of failure
be it the astral curse of the harlot
be it a trophy to spark humiliation
be it the return of the drowning sensation,

he stood before evil & gave it a home
he said sinister tasted sweet
he spun sugar into cinder blocks
he said cherry cola was out of season
be it the cavities of lost love
be it novocaine
be it something rotten from the start,

                                                         ­                        but it tasted so sweet
                                                           ­                 in prison, no one waters
                                                                ­                             the cherry tree
                                                            ­                    but he tasted so sweet
                                                        be it my sweet tooth that buries me.