The Psycho told it with drollness…I heard it like
this:
The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise
Each brought three items for the Creep to sign
They love him—he is their passion, their hero
They love his genius and style
To them he is a breathing masterpiece
They praise the darkness that he brings into the
atmosphere
And get high off his eerie aura
The Creep was tired but willing
His Organizer could see the stress shine off him
and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice
Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting,
his frown was turning to stone
“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he
scribbled a child’s copy of his misery
“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer
“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him
until he bleeds on my book!”
Every child in line heard this and a chorus of
5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my
book!”
WTF is what went through his Organizer’s mind
Creep’s jaw fell
She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to
say—he was caught off guard
“They’re your fans,” she said
He spread blood on each of those kids’ three
things
He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening
each wound before cutting a new one
…The Psycho told this story with pleasure and wit
The audience laughed, as if it were the Psycho who
had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids
