fire

the belly of the beast turns over.
hunger gnaws from the inside.

like a growing fetus with sharp
clawing maws.

it will feed on the insides.
the blood and guts
and the sinew and marrow.

from this abortion comes
forth a monster.
a monster from this beast’s belly.

and inside the mind it buries
itself like a burr.
a scratching, scraping burr.
a spur on the backside of
shit kickers.

but i am full.
well fed.
a large meal of turds
in belly bled.

and yet this monster.
the monster from the beast’s belly.
will not stay satiated.

it eats me too.
from the inside out.

a hollow man.
i walk on broken sticks.
the white of my heel.
the bone grinding to meal.

the gritting of teeth.
to hide the nattering beneath.

black art of despair.
well practiced over the miles.
this hill long and steep.

whisper in my ear.
tell me what they want to hear.
my muse don’t be dumb.

ancient scrolls on rags.
crumble into wispy dust.
lost knowledge lost souls.

the twinkling stars are extinguished.

the night shining cloud a beacon.

a beacon or bright wispy omen.

the man on the moon would say omen.

the man on the street thinks beacon.

but the shining night is a thinly disguised veil.

a spiders leftover cobweb from ground zero.

that first flash bang.

the bang of a broken flashbulb.

when the great photographer had no light.

that came later.

and since then a torrent of light.

drowns us in an ocean of buzzing photons.

and our photonic lives are not brighter for it.

rather our darkness grows.

pull out my eyeballs.
seeing too many zeroes.
holes in my black socks.