What comes from ashes, you would know.
I've seen you there, fire in your eyes.
Your modesty allows me slow
Pursuit, perhaps I should disguise
My tongue's intentions in a song,
Or dance my way inside your head
And bring you back where you belong--
Oak headboard,  my ancestral bed.
You may see me, firewalking fool--
Head topped with bells, a rubber soul--
Salute you with a burnished tool,
Your misused heart my certain goal.
Now close your eyes, imagine me
In your embrace, in ecstacy.

Searching for my soul
Finding myself in wrong places
Lying on a bed of nails
Bug-infested crucifix blanket
Hitman in a hall of smoke & mirrors
Hot broken glass slippers, firewalking
Vanilla skies have fallen prey
Metallic wings bent out of shape
Möbius-stripped down to the bone
Until they break
Homemade wolverine claws
Scratching at the surface of a cracked mask
The real face has leprosy
This meal tastes like ashtray
A naked lunch of creamed corn
Life is a waiting room
Death is a closed door
The lady in the radiator serenades me
But the birds forgot the beetles
& turned cannibal
It’s happening again
I don’t know what day it is
Time is a tangled pile of tripped haywire
Pins in my head
My own anti-pop consortium
There is no bubble
That’s why I’m struggling
How can I not be myself?!!

There is no “real” me
Obsession is a ghost in a shell
Two charred braincells that short-circuit & spark
Cross-chatter, but the words are all slushed
Giant tarantula in the bedroom
Reality is a scramble-suit.