He was too ugly to be seen, so he
put a paper sack over his square head.
He sent letters to the cops and kept a
collection of sharp and blunt objects in
his tool shed, where he took girls to dispatch.
Infinity ticked on his wristwatch, marked
by blood and sweat and tears, true poetry,
the origin of villains on the wall.
He had an ocean in his ear, he had
the universe whispering in his ear.
Nudity portrayed itself in flashes
of light and of color. Nobody knew
where he came from. Nobody knew the name
of the Laundromat where he washed his clothes.
by Ian Sanquist