My Crime Wuz You Poem by James McLain

When you did it, did you measure with
cups O heart, held by hands of pianist?
Heart is judged, by two tugging starving
spiders who pull it wide, come inside it.
Little bloody feet prints guilt of crime is
upward spiral back of mind, heart bleeds.
I look up through milky eye, camera zoom
behind lost, many are the shadows, yours.
You step over to the microwave, slip inside
it, warm it up, look around eat the evidence.