I was told about the serial killer H H Holmes before heading back home yesterday so he was the only subject that really came up. Doesn't feel like I've really captured anything here but in terms of 30 poems in 30 days it fulfills that purpose.
You can see the house from here
Built near the fair
of symmetry and splendour.
Whose sewer carried those,
drowning not waving,
in broken attachments.
Where the rooms were cheap
and check out in the basement.
Where hopes were stripped
down to the curves of their anxiety
Where a man believed he was separate.
That the earth was raw and mindless,
fuel for his architecture
but all he could work was pain
the material that scores the soul.
His legacy a weight of suffering
and the promise of endless towers.