excerpt from "Sonnets About Serial Killers"
by S P Somtow
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
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This poem was singled out by the editors of the "World's Best Fantasy and Horror" anthologies.
Death is a little pinprick. Just a jab.
Nothing to fear. No suffering. No pain
Compared to the stern, stupefying stab
Of loneliness. Some acid to the brain
Will melt away that lingering abhorrence;
Then, all at once, by fiat from above,
Transcendence; for we'll taste tempestuous torrents
Of desire. For you, eternal love;
For me, mere transience; for I consume
And what was beautiful becomes old bones
And flesh, and rots in a suburban room,
While your response to my perfervid moans
Is not to speak at all. Oh stay, oh stay --
Not like the rest -- True love does not decay!
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|Reviewed by ***** ********* (Reader)
|Excellent poetic narrative, stylish, a wonderfully tight and concise reflection on fear, lonliness, transcendence and the ever-present shadow of looming anonymous death! Great work!|
|Reviewed by Maria Lupinacci
|This is really good! Congratulations on your acknowledgement from "World's Best Fantasy and Horror" anthologies.
|Reviewed by Patricia Gomes
|Having also written of Dahmer, I applaud you,sir.|