Wolfgang Carstens

by Horror Sleaze Trash on November 13, 2010

notes on Seed

the killer enters the home
of a middle-aged woman.

he ties her to a chair
in her living room,
then circles ‘round her
while holding a hatchet.

he flips the weapon
from hand to hand,
turning it
from the flat steel
to the sharp blade.

he raps her softly
on the back of her skull
with the flat steel.

he moves slowly,
pressing the metal
to the spot
he intends to strike.

he taps one cheek
then the other.

he kneels in front
and taps the bridge
of her nose,
then again a bit harder
and again, and again, and again
until it shatters.

everything is methodical,
emotionless, and designed
to instill fear.

he circles her
before slamming the steel
into her forehead.

the blows become harder,
menacing,
the hatchet turns
and now the blade
rips into her cheek.

he circles, and the blade
bites into the other cheek.
chunks of her face
splatter the curtains.

the killer circles
and strikes
again, and again, and again
as the features of her face
disappear –
until the top of her skull
is an open wound.

he raises the hatchet
high in the air;
rams it handle first
into the faceless mush
where her pretty head was.

this is one of the most disturbing
death scenes ever filmed.

but spare me your complaints,
your outrage, because this
is what you wanted to happen.

it’s what you’re clamoring for
in your plastic world
of reality entertainment:

murder on the TV, in the cinema,
on the internet –
in your children’s video games.

put your hands down!
stop peeking through your fingers!
keep munching your popcorn!
sipping your Pepsi!
don’t you dare look away!

here is your death!
here is the price of your admission.

romanticize murder
with your serial killer trading cards,
your Charlie Manson poems,
and your slasher flicks;

but one day you (or someone you love)
will find yourself tied to a chair
in a snuff film.

no cameras, lights, special effects,
no stand-in stuntman.

the hatchet will be real,
the pain unbearable
and your blood will repaint
the walls.

before the blow comes
that ends your life
remember these movies,
these video games,
and before you lay blame
upon the monster standing before you,
look out upon the audience
upon the insensitive eyes
that always want more and more
and more death
and seek your responsibility there.

– from “Crudely Mistaken For Life,” Epic Rites Press, 2010

Wolfgang Carstens lives in Alberta, Canada with his wife, five kids, two
cats and a dog. His poetry is printed on the backs of unpaid bills.
Wolfgang’s first book, “Crudely Mistaken For Life” was released by Epic
Rites Press earlier this year. It’s from Small Press Distribution here.

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