your reformed monster

people learn their language
to forget their human
find their monsters and offering them
a change of clothes

they hide them thorough
in group the photo
behind the nobility
between the maids
beside the mute
in front of the blind

Armageddon is still Armageddon
sand the fangs, file the nails--
talk in white words that thrush ear drums
go ahead,
Armageddon is still Armageddon

manners can only be excused for so long
until people will begin to notice
the slur of touch
that burrows itself
in private places

and although you can state so fluidly
that you had no idea
what you were thinking
and compel the swell of eyes

your reformed monster
mute and dapper returns
to his ordained standing
waiting for his next meal.