The Ghosts of River Valley Farm
Truman Capote’s torment
Do you visit this lonely farm
on misty Kansas mornings?
Your soul awoken from tortured sleep
by keening hysteric coyotes
and yellow locomotive warnings.
A wispy apparition clutching at your pen,
poised to write your flowery words
gleaned with effeminate guile.
Nepotistic manipulations maximising pain.
Do you search the shuttered house
for your obsession’s love again?
Alone in this forsaken place
staring over madness’ shoulder,
while Perry re-lives his nightmare guilt
on bloody cellar floors
in the house that Clutter built.
Do you reflect upon the crime
that whet your perfidious senses?
Regretting its en-miring grasp
which left you bruised and brooding
inside your cocktail haven.
Ensnared by the viscid crime
that claimed not six – but seven?
What would Truman write of you
if he should return to earth?
A clone, dramatising a hedonistic decline
of a troubled narcissistic elf.
Would he, again be ruled by obsession
and fall in love with himself?