Long since the smell of corpses lingered close
and bodies reeked underneath floorboards kept
left him clutching their little bodies close,
hoping for sun-kissed dreams as they slept.
How long will the basement crawl space digest
teenage remains wrought in suburban dread?
I wonder whether hope writhed in his chest
or died, alone, with adolescent dead.
What society lets go of young souls
before they could prove their worth as men?
What broken beast in the dark of night stole
the morning song of the blissful house wren?
Did he kiss their lips to make his youth last,
weeping as men do, draped in their past?
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