It was far and away the worst
crime scene he could remember
and he had been at it for many years.
Over here were the bodies
of anapests and dactyls
motionless where they fell,
oh how he wanted to pull
a white sheet over them
for his sake if not for theirs
for they were beyond caring.
By the wall he saw a trochee
half draped over a caesura
and just down from them
a monostitch which fell trying
to shield a pair of spondees,
now all gone from life.
He knew where he had to look
for the killer’s motive
was obvious to him, all
he needed to do was find
someone in the area who
was reading a book of advice
on writing, be it Faulkner,
Hemingway or Quiller-Couch.
Murder your little darlings, indeed.