the human fur is burnt

31Aug09

the human fur is burnt

I wanted the fire to rise off of its keeper and spit up its fury onto the cliffs
of their shoulders.  I wanted their trance-like curiosity to make the shape
of gray smoke and puff up the sacs of their lungs while they choked on
the swamp of their voyeurism.

I’m the magic and the mundane, naked and dishonest, I am knife and bladed
spine.  I hold the attention of the virtuous and empty.  I break the will and block
the path of the sovereign.  I suck up the soft earth, pulling in  the meat of seal,
shellfish, and sheep.

I spear the crowd.  Their heavy eyes close—hypnotic coil, dance, dark, dense,
food for fire is the oil of hair—the human fur is burnt.

It crumbles like an antique September snow.

for ReadWritePoem Prompt #90

Filed under: brain matter, curious, dangerous, holograms, humanoid   |  10 Comments