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I once met the devil
  He had eyes that burned a neon blue
and as they dripped from the sky
      to the slippery earth from which
                            his crooked legs had sprouted
he said to me,
     "My hands could possess ink blotches
like bruises,
but I'm late for the city."
An I bid him farewell as he left
to run with the rats and sleep under
                      open windows.

I once met a man
   He lived and worked for the garden
meddling with the haystacks
              and humming his tunes.
The flashes and noise of
      the highway
built a castle around him
and drowned out his ditty
so that now instead of
    smiling to the bees and
               speaking to the flowers
he hides from the highway
             and whispers to asphault.

I once met a woman
   She pretended everything
was a movie
and had a soundtrack for
             each day.
Her thoughts often reek of solipsism
       but she believes that
             she has friends
             to share them with.
Who had no problem writing this poem
but often, could not remember
the image of her own face.

And this woman would eat the scraps of the devil's soul,
If only she was not so stubborn.