On a very grim young man I knew

I knew a rapist and his displeasure.
He read Nietszche and as a boy
the girls despised him, and he them—
how absurd the use of grammar
when an ethic will replace—
beware the passionate man,
for he carries the universe in his head,
and ponders often self-destruction—
dead, he says of the flowers,
dead, he says of civilization,
dead, he says of pigtailed sprites,
dead, he says of civil rights,
dead, he says of joy and men
with whom no agreement can be said,
dead, he says of Rousseau’s tribe,
dead, he says of tail and hide,
dead, he says of everything
that tarries outside his skull,
dead, he says of theory of mind,
dead, he says of pleasures,
for his is a sullen kind—
he wrote epistolary to long-buried
men of letters and expected something back—


~ by Jeremy on June 19, 2013.

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