I'm the wronger

a wooden soul
destined to stoke for eternity

I better start smoking again
maybe the harder stuff  

to get my soul used to breathing in ash
my lungs will be black and caked full


chugging deer blood and bull
to erase
the feeling of me

you tell me I'm an un-thinker
superfluous thoughts of a prosthetic heart

I had a dream once
I was peeling
never ending oranges

pulling the skin from the sweet juicy
flesh
drops of tang slipping from my fingers

but never sinking my teeth into

orange suggests so many contrary things
trees indicate life
prosperity

but eating an orange means separation
illness

tie me down
batter me

I think it unwise
you chasing me

to the un-pearly gates
those burning barriers
you circumnavigate

while I will smell of citrus
for eternity