Electra Movie Camera image by Joe Haput CC BY-SA
The Egghead: Cantos I-V
by Cosmic Poet Simon Pole
I
“Put the gun unto my head,
Pull the trigger, I’ll be dead,
And perhaps in gully thrown,
Where on my corpse grave-flies grown
Themselves will swarm and take blight
Into what was healthy night,
And to others living spread
Your pestilence in their stead:
In ambush you’ve lain in wait,
For me at this desert gate,
A roadstop where no one dines,
Or reads the old, faded signs.”
II
Howled the wind through the wires,
And in bins burned the fires
Of rank trash, where smoked the bones
Of lost children far from home:
Troubled teens who ran away,
Looking for a brighter day,
But were offered luring gifts
By the man who often drifts
Through the stations and the stops
Where the bus its cargo drops;
But now he toys with adults,
One who must his whims consult.
III
“I see you have stakes prepared,
And by this bed I am scared,
Pointed tips, to body-scaled,
On which I will lie impaled.
Or perhaps some other plot,
By your fiendish mind begot,
Lies in wait inside this shed,
Under which lie buried, dead,
Those who somehow gained your eye:
Fated victims, born to die.
In your corrupt worldly view,
The rights of life are but few.”
IV
The killer smirked, then he mused
On the lives he had abused;
Only this, the pain and gore,
Could affect what was before
A frozen face, void of signs
Which the human soul outline,
Or reflect another’s woe
In their sympathetic show.
But now this nod to his force,
Its intense, destructive course,
Caused him pride and preening stance,
And he did a little dance.
V
“There, you see, to die is good,
Seldom is it understood,
Release from life, burden’s gone,
On the victim mercy shone:
Out from me proceeds the power,
Blessing in the final hour;
And of course a little pain,
If they must lose, why not gain?
After all these worthless gimps,
Some are dumb, and others limp,
Cannot from me self-defend—
They deserve the hell I send.”