This is another poem that was originally published in 2004 as part of The Vintage Collection, which I copied word for word and typo-for-typo from the hand-written and hand-typed originals. The intention was, as with my other, more recent poetry collections, to capture the raw immediacy of what was captured at the time. This is the last of the ‘Homicide’ poems from this collection, and it is a bit different. After last week’s poem stuck so rigidly to the syllabic structure of the 8 poems that came before it (yes, there is a ‘drip’ for every syllable in any one of the suicide poems or the first three homicide poems), this one is … not as structured. In fact, it’s a bit nuts. Hopefully it’s exactly as nuts as its content. Enjoy.