Caught in sweat under a May moon's baleful eye, Trembling in his stripes, the rapist's case Twists against him: cops are rooting in the cleft Where he has hid, and has bloomed his mortal joy; 5 White was ever the webbed habiliment Of innocence, of youth not yet betrayed By aching age, the body stretched and splayed That had known quiet concentration for a toy And stared down blowing hours at a spider's weft. 10 A spotlight loiters up the cliff in searing zigs. Red sirens in a burning forest moan, Stage left; another crooked mountain over, Another tragedy. Our killer in the brambles Mumbles curses, thumbs a furious bee 15 Out of his dirty ear, and spits against night clover. Scratched like Christ, but cynical-tired As prosecuting Pilate, he must pause and puff, And stain the winter hawthorne that upholds a spray Of indifferent spring, swelling the sublime 20 With idle odors under a star's demurring haze. But round again, like a repeating hymn Flashed the indicting needle of their light Pinning him, an ape-man up a tree, pinned Him who thought to leap and bite and still escape. 25 Every downstream salmon dreams the ocean's home, Their first mistake. The manhunt's gripping snare Inches in, a time-lapse bullwhip zeroed on a tiger's nose, To ring an empty hawthorne hollywood moonlight spots. He'd fled nimbly bleeding from the hot 30 Pursuit, but left his card; in an oozed gash Of one snapped limb, it read: "Fred, Illusionast."
From the collection "XXX Sonnets"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.