Once upon a time my name
Was bloodlust,
And in its Stygian fury I came
Like thermonuclear landscaping.
I became that furnace
Into which all
Bad ideas are tossed, and which
Generates the white hot,
Ghost hound heat
To fuel a motor,
To fill a peoples’ festering maw,
Their yawning, gurgling need
For macabre dances,
And human plane crashes.
It went like that for uncounted eons,
Only mentioned in bleakly
Humorous passing,
And spoken by dry tongues, and
Unbrushed teeth.
I danced, and crashed, and
Held court on Hell’s balcony
While the sun shed morning blood,
Again and again.
All the while, black smoke built up like
Silt on the popcorn ceiling.
That **** ceiling, which dropped
Little dreams and teasers on the carpet
To be pried out by desperate fingers
Which only proved themselves to be plaster
After I had snorted them.
That **** ceiling.
The audience, for being so large, was so quiet
Biting their knuckles, and waiting, breathless
For the final blitzkrieg that would have rendered my Poland
A cratered waste.
I did not want to disappoint, crawling like a pig
Sniffing, searching, sweating, and
Not wanting to let them down.