His latest picture might be one of Zeus,
his hair all flowing grey and eyes of steel,
searching out the woman he’d have next.
As a young man I’d soon mistake him for
a junkie lolling on my Chelsea stoop.
He won’t grin with his mouth, but embers
crackle through the haze in Manson’s eyes.
Denied parole eleven times, it’s hard
to find it shocking that today makes twelve.
Oh, I’m a dangerous man, he said,
and proved it with his shivs and contraband,
make it gruesome as you can.
The swastika etched on your brow is fading.
I watched you once, on court TV and chills
kept me awake all night. It’s what you wanted.
But Helter Skelter’s just a line from some song
about pie to us now. Your genius, too,
will fade from memory. Your eyes, I think, will stay.
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