A Love for Evil Things

You still haunt me
like that ape that swings
through the trees
behind me,
just out of sight
in the periphery
Like that bird of death
to consider
on the rusted cyclone wire
fence thats falling apart
by the station,
with the rotting clothes piling up.

When a dead body becomes
nothing more than a sack of
potatoes...
dispatched with the required
paperwork.

when evil is
Cursed in the other,
But not transformed in the self

Your terrible love...
The love for,
not of, evil things

Stands
Like a large, worn smooth
Rock in earths desert of hate
On this rock I perish,
Am smashed to bits
and broken beyond repair
That evil maybe transformed
in me,

to a love for,
not of, evil things.