The Black Fire Blues

 
(or "The Loneliness of Evil")




I've a need to kill
on scorch or sight.

I am slave to the bind
of a grind,

a wretched excess
on two
restless legs,

a torching beat
from slow-black
strikes,

& rat biscuit-brief
on the boning grief
I am crypto-fried
in passion's ash.

I whiskey nip
to the speak
of ghosts...
peel their
pretty pink skulls
on the culling ledge

& lost in screaming pitch
is my yawning itch...
an azure moon in my eye
& luck on my side,

so I am scaling crisp
on snakes of smoke
to the choking cusp
where my innards erupt

unknowable source
from the sparkling beam,
a Sanctuary-coil
about my throat,
rivulets of steel
from balls-to-brains,

an abandoned swoon
still croons the ruins,

I fox & fire
from crouching weed
& post a lean
on planted seed...

(so now I've a
thick n' sticky
shaft a grass
for each an' e'ery
lass er ass:)

the meat n' mead
of iron moments
where scale & testes
tap & brain.

I lash & laugh
at the rushing gash.

You've the need to love
upon torch alight,

you slave to the bind
of your time or mind.

I freewill-burn
on two restless legs

as a scorching beat
from the darkness strikes.