On midday last in Rotterdam
I
murdered my professor, his final act of teaching
set to broaden my horizons. The planning phase,
so highly lauded, was my ‘how-to’ thesis course.
As always, though, I grew haphazard
improvising salutations:
classic backstab, old-school chloroform,
ex-fashionable double Taser! Oh, to be sure
I hemmed and hammed, I caught unaware
and serenaded, sonnets of sport cars
spouting as he spewed and redecorated.
I followed suit. Ye
wind chimes hanging over yonder
were made of finest ivory, spinal
tappers of the air – the scent
they keep off comes from finest cat
food ground and grinded grisly-like,
one meat all delicacies yet.
This very Rutgers finger painting
scarlet-stricken
scattershot
splattered bloody brilliance
is but his essence, nothing more!
