Bundy

deep amongst the mountains of Colorado
a very pale moon
sheds its thin light onto the pine trees
of a lumber company’s crop,
Pan, the God of nature
ever awake
sits down amongst the trees
by a sleeping fawn
and strokes its back
his haunches bristling
as he listens to the forest’s silence
not a sound
passes through the cobwebby air
except
there is a man
not a quiet man
but a quiet one tonight
carrying with him a duffel bag
and a torch
he has been here before
then as now
almost in a trance
he arrives at the place he’s been walking to
kneeling down
he undoes the zip on his bag
and lifts out a head
he puts it down
beside the one that is already there
then pulls out another
and sets it down
forming a semi-circle in front of him
he sits cross legged
and holds the torch
so that he can see all three of them
he gazes at them
with pin prick pupils
and savours it:
these beautiful heads, that are his,
the two that he brought
he had applied make up to,
the other one
is too rotted for make up
it is still beautiful though
he does not think of it as a head
just a face
he turns each of them onto their occipital bones
so that they’re facing up
still holding his torch and keeping it on them
he stands up
pulls down his trousers
and begins to masturbate

Hister Grant, a very troubled man, has been writing since he was 13 (leaving school not long after) and his written three books one of which he self published (Suspend by Hister Grant). He enjoys the poetry of Plath, Poe, Owen, Bukowski and Decasseres among other, he also enjoys extreme cinema, black metal, death metal, Grindcore, etc, smoking and drinking coffee.

Find more by Hister Grant in the Author Index.

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.