The eggs of infinity
hatch and roll, downhill,
to the season of their choice,
where they are boiled
in an era of reality,
salted heavily in tears,
and served up to the thieves
out in the undergrowth,
who sell ’em back to God,
who never sees ’em.
They offed my favorite soap opera character.
He was poisoned and strangled, found dead in a crashed Porsche.
Could have been his mercenary stepfather, mistress, daughter or maid.
He’d recently argued with them all, though not at once.
And his recent heavy drinking problem was getting in the way of his coke abuse.
Maybe it could have been his dealer or the drifter he’d abused at the station.
They found an eight page suicide note, penned by his spurned wife,
pinned to his pant leg by a large kitchen knife. No fingerprints.
Daughter has disappeared with stepbrother. Were spotted on another network.
Maid and mistress, both beautiful, have grown close and whisper a lot.
Evil stepfather is same suit size and has a huge closet. Drifter was in a union.
Could have been his bookie. Horse tranquilizers were found in his blood.
The only ones who cried at the funeral were his wife and the drifter’s lawyer.