there is no accounting for taste.

he felt connected with the world.

he was a lunatic, but still he felt this way.

there is no accounting for taste.

he thought of this as he bashed in the man's skull.

the man was on the ground and so was the blood.

still, he battered the purple face.

this world is beauty and solace, graven and misshapen,

he thought, kicking the man's head. I want to roll myself into its

warmth until it becomes a womb, encasing me. the man's left 

eye fell loose and dangled across his cheek. I want to 

inherit the Earth and its love. I want to kiss it to sleep at night

and milk away its fears when the sun rises. the man's lip

busted open, a trail of slick bent down his chin. I want

peace and prosperity for all. the man lost a tooth. It clattered

on the blacktop and settled next to a discarded newspaper.

I will kiss the children when I get in Office and lift their spirits

by putting God back in the institutions. the man's chest caved

with the tip of a boot and he coughed out blood. I will give them 

freedom. I will give them hope.