Tame me the blue murder moon
A crime of syllables - death rattled sonnets.
The leather gloved villain, weapon under the bonnet
This yellowed buff poem
Stalks like a Roman soldier, with the killer's instinct
With a fiendish format for blood; eyes of Argento
And sex kitten exploitations; slasher's opera
A grandiose Grand Guignol, those French
Are like bread, raised for a full feed
Of greed, gore and gratuitous galores
Zut alors! But this one's tough as a Sicilian
Mafia mobster, hard nut like a Brazilian
(But it's not African!)
It's cousin to the Spaghetti Western: entrails of bloody
Aftermath souping the scene: a child with a spoon
Made for flicking, decorating the screen, or the walls
With more splatter; psycho-drama
Where it's crystallised plumage flashes fierce
With a killer's knife, the merciless plunge;
Hacked off limbs in a dactyl sliced, syllabic grunge
And grime; low budget crime; atmospheric
As a Hitchcockian suspense
Sleazy as a prostitute's den.
The giallo poem is wisps of grey velvet -
Four flies flittting to the flight of deadly death.
It's bravo for the Bava and the bloody bravado
The black lace smooth, the masked murderer's grooves
The poets that knew too much
Dead by dawn, deep red sunsets
Decapitating rhymes, like shafts
Of light, verse in murderess elevators
Going down, like a whore for a target
In a parking lot.
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