The Killing Seasons by Sue Blair ------------------- Spring ------ Spring- when thoughts of a young psycho's fancy Turn to murder The warm rains soften the ground Inviting the spade The concealing brush becomes full again The victims too seem much fuller Frolicking about in summer clothing Distracted by the advent of pleasant weather Emerging from taciturn winter shells Smiling at the world A veritable cornucopia Summer ------ As the fat flies lazily drone They lie sluggishly on the beach Reading and drowsing Full of grilled flesh and alcohol It's weird the way animals Loose their bowels at death What was once a living animal Becomes a tasty hotdog And then a stain on the carpet Of my special shed It's hard to get motivated To perform the burial The quickly-coming carrion smell Is a motivating factor As the former flesh bloats and blackens Fall ---- Campers' ghost stories told over Marshmallows toasting golden Make my skin creep The smell of burning leaves Dank twigs on the trail Rot quietly into a loamy mulch That reminds me of the dark private spots With the light musky scent Or the pungent musky scent Depending on individual hygiene habits Each possessing its own unique virtue Like vennison after beef Emphemeral nymphs alight Tiny surprise packages flit about A ghost, a witch, an elf I alone unwrap the mystery Male or female, cute or ugly duckling Mostly in a group or chaperoned these days Parents who care protecting their brood The one alone or unguarded Like a gem glistening on velvet spread Waiting to be plucked And held between the fingers Slowly turned to reveal Each bright facet Reflecting into my eyes Becoming a part of me And making me smile Replaced on the rough The stone is dark But I am full again Winter ------ The soil, a rock, cold and hard unwelcoming, unwelcome The water surface, a brittle pane of glass The sun glistening on each white crystal Reflecting rays in every direction Makes the back of my eyes hurt And my head pound I withdraw to reflect The photograph tells a thousand words And elicits a thousand memories My skin bristles and adrenaline flows With the retelling I've been meaning to do this But this summer I think I'll do a time-lapse series It's strange how fast they go And the many changes within such a short span decomposing cells puff the body with gas giving off a strange luminescence An aura even in death rigor mortis contorts the rib cage Bones break and cartilage snaps a macabre St. Vitus' dance squeezes groaning air from the diaprahgm I would swear that she speaks