As Jack wipes blade against
Black butcher's bib,
Calm as clouds, London lies,
Dark sloe.
Extracted so easily, her heart’s
Firm in its new wax paper square,
Growing cooler by gradients,
Hardly weighing a pound, nestled
Inside his pocket as carefully as a wallet.
Jostled in courtyard, just
Knowing what they brush gives him
Little fevers that don’t stop burning.
Mary, Black Mary,
Nothing could have stopped him
Once he turned his mind to you, your
Painted paper skin, black pulp mouth
Quiet, and ***** hair rustling,
Rusting ginger to burned blond.
Saucy Jack sends his cards,
Then goes out and larks
Under a moon greasy as a kidney;
Violence foams from his lips
Where no one saw it before or
eXpected it. Imagine calming
Yourself as he does: surgical
Zeal transformed into the most banal hello.