By Henry Goldkamp
Richard Masterson, 43,
was pronounced dead at 6:53 pm.
First let me say in the future you cannot send envelopes or stamps inside your letter.
with a cross-dresser,
strangled the her
of his victim
As for considering myself happy, no I don’t think I am happy because I just think this is not a place where someone can truly be happy.
how to make
wine out of
Yeah I had a beautiful chick who was 6 years older than me, a former model, & she wrote me here about 7 years ago telling me she had never forgot about me & still loved me & all of that but she only wrote for about a month & a half.
Richard’s murder victim
was, of course, at one time,
a child. That child touched
lacy material in his mother’s
underwear drawer. Her bra
is unlike anything else
he has handled.
It would be so nice to be on a lakeside some place under the stars with a cold beer & a campfire!
Running errands with Mom,
the victim takes in billboards
& their interstates. Beauty
just over 60 miles per hour.
Never did like the Beatles really.
The boy loses sleep
to his erections, not
knowing what to do
with them. It’s hard
to dream, to pee like that.
I hope you had a good Thanksgiving & that Xmas is even better.
with his baseball cards.
They’re addressed to Mom.
It is just trash & to be honest it makes me feel they think so little of us that I would rather just not eat any of it.
Three in the morning
hurts his eyes. He sits
on the toilet—like a girl.
He cannot aim his penis
down in his state of arousal.
If I was out I would beat his punk ass & take his woman from him & make him like it. (I hate people that mistreat women).
He wraps the newest catalogue
around his naked lap. His groin
is saturated by muted crinkles. Urine
drips into the unlit bowl, ceramic
like Mom’s china, MawMaw’s
I still have not heard from my lawyer.
Outside the house,
bare feet. Wet pages
are jammed in a dumpster.
We got locked down this morning so that was a surprise but not bad because it is mostly quiet when it is lockdown so lots less yelling from all the animals.
to his room,
his sleepy brother
“Why is your dick hard?”
If they do the chances are I will get out of here one day.
His brother tells him how to
get rid of boners the next afternoon.
He also tells him
they are called boners.
I have got another letter from my sister & she has mentioned that she wants to come see me but I am not sure if she will come or not it has been over two years & when she came that time it was to tell me my mom died.
The first music album he buys
is Britney Spears. He spends the day
masturbating—jerking off—to the pictures
in the liner notes.
“…Baby One More Time”
is his favorite song.
It is like this I told a minister one time how good my mom is & he said she was still going to hell if she did not repent & all that stupid shit & I pretty much told that fool to fuck himself & his ragged ass god.
Britney’s liner notes
are pinned up next to his Lamborghini
poster he’d bought with Dad’s money
at the St. Clement book fair.
The boy thinks
her denim vest
would look better on him.
I am now waiting for the DA to file a motion asking the court to issue a death warrant & set a date for my execution.
Paint from the plunger’s wood
handle has worn away
from his physical questions. He uses
Mom’s hand lotion for lubrication.
It’s scented: Japanese Cherry Blossom.
Well the Cards are in first place in the NL & Houston is in first place in the AL.
The answer stinks
of perfume & feces.
He spends hours inside
the tiny locked bathroom.
I used to watch a black bear come out of the woods all the time while sitting on my grandma’s porch when I was a kid.
There are three pornography magazines
tucked inside his baseball card binders.
While tidying up his room with her,
Mom found them & laughed.
Man that really fucked me up that you ask me if I hate you for your freedom.
he got away
with something. He felt
he did not
This will be my last letter man. If I get a stay I will write again but if not I will say goodbye for now.
the door, he finds
his plunger missing.
His stomach clutches
a boiling sun.