The Dover Demon
The vinegar student with a black hood pulled slightly down
over his lashes; rips my clothes off using his copy center.
A white car reading "University Police", tires grinds the ground
behind me, as the Dover Demon presses behind the Humanities
Building, plugging his butt in a bench facing the brick,
moving his head side to side, as if watching a professor write
the lessons on the board.
Following my mouth flickers', awaiting it's murder.
Keys crowned my head and stung the steps;
the chains painted red, dried lose. His bones
strung to my ribs; crunching them, like the sounds
of wind slapping leaves. My back planted into rocks,
as his s harp hand cuts my shirt and his eyes take pictures.
Snap. Snap, snap, and his feet playing the drum
was the final sounds.
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