1990 Ornaments of a serial killer

Scarlet shafts of darkened heat, with fiery flames, a sunset,

Brightly lit columns in corridors, shaded with corners of suspicion.

Whispering spirits floating upon the warmth of violent acts perceived in past lifestyles,

The power of heat spurred on by the recurring fate of criminal feats.

Bellowing sounds, with bursts of contained pressure,

Another is dispersed in to the heart,

The radiating heat of the heart,

Rarely vacant.

In small tunnels of 'Abundance in hatred', the bodies of angry courage lie, while above hung in 'Still Life', the

hardened fossils of the unlucky.

Twisted ruins of hated personalities, with melting characteristics of capture,

Salient features of forgotten limbs, pure white

Testify innocence to their mentor.

Each tunnel, broken up, by fair bubbling cavities of hot lava, drown his victims and leave their corpses almost

pattern- like,

In a ring around each wet coffin.

The air, thick with smoke, steam, the mysterious stench of death, frequents paths lined with abandoned arms and

legs,

Wavy lines of drowsy warmth, curdle the blood in the decaying bodies.

A sudden noise, a siren, silences the machine ...

But for a second.

A customer falls thunderously in to one of the tunnels.

A number of his companion's bones are crushed under his dead weight.

A fat sales man, his death obsolete ...

He is carelessly rolled in to one of the lava bins, to help compose

The spine of yet another tunnel.

A 'finished' being is decoratively moulded in to the wall of the human cave.

His final expression, horrific, a tribute to his death.

His head, then, snapped off, and seized as a trophy,

To the devil and his work.

With blind disregard for the remainder of the bodies, the machine is halted, and steams as if in conclusion.

The cavities of lava swell flat, and the scarlet shafts sink,

Resting in an almost recognisable violet.

The air turns cold, and the smoke clears, thus revealing the true 'Ornaments of hell'.

Suspended faces emerge from the walls, and animated limbs twist strange ways to suit their abnormal mould.

Ghastly portraits silently curse as an eerie haze of hatred settles, finally ... Blue.

The machine rests but the tunnels are forced in to permanent rhythms, dancing the steps of life after death.

He smiles, and admires ... His erection.