the blood sun woke up like a dead body

it stretched its light, on the golf course

full

and ready for the taking.

Nothing new under the sun?

That was a lie

Frank teed-off

with his wooden driver.

He carried a newspaper and a cup of coffee on his push-cart

He flicked his cigarette

and struck his approach shot.

When Frank woke-up that morning

he had a profound sense of freedom

It would take at least two weeks

for the stink to build-up, under his door

and two days

for his land-lady to email his devices

that he didn’t have.

The rest of humanity found their purpose in other people

Frank,

read the newspaper.

Body Clubbed to Death on Golf Course

Fragments of wood, found in the skull

“Bill loved to play golf,” the headline read.

“I kicked a cocaine habit and got into Harvard Business School because of Bill,” an African American scholar said.

Bill counseled kids at the YMCA.

“My mother was a prostitute and I was going to join the family business, but because of Bill, I’m going to become a teacher,” Sheri said.

Nobody knows the where-abouts of our killer.

Even the FBI has failed to put-together a psychological profile.

This is the fifth, in five months.

Autopsy suggests the murders occurred during the full moon.

Frank stood up and smacked his ball

His driver was chipped and stained red

He looked into the sky

and glanced at the slow golfer, holding-up play

Did he dare in the daylight?

“Hey! I know what you’re doing wrong with your golf swing!” Frank shouted

“Oh—?”

“Yes. Face the green. Now I’m going to demonstrate with my driver.”

The morning newspaper commented on the 6th

Nobody knew the motive.

Frank, smiled

while smoking his Pall Malls

If he died,

the murders would stop.

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