Bound and shackled
he is grinning like a
sent to the gallows
still he throws his head
and laughs.
That smile haunts us
for it hung there on
his hanging face,
a rolling howl
chases as his
final gasp.

What have we
found here,
what is it we're
stringing up?
If we burn the body now,
will the measures
be enough?
I remember those eyes--

So cold,
that breathing hard
November day;
the leaves red
as his hands,
as broken glass.
With pride,
he wore the rope
just like a mark of status,
a shining jewel
a crown of lesser
kings long past.

What man dances
on the stairs to death,
what beast bows
and bids us well?
No fear of meeting him in heaven,
so afraid they'll spit him
out of hell.
For I remember those eyes--

and hungry as the
waking wolf;
winter creeping
down the ladder of
his words.
Blew a kiss that dripped
like liquid guilt
back to the ground,
he took the step himself
and left his echoes
to be heard:

'Fools believe in angels
and that God can walk
with them,
and maybe monsters do
the same sometimes.
I'll be waiting
once you leave your
house of lies--

For I remember all
of your eyes.'  

September 22 2003