Again the snake
is at my spine,
I feel fangs behind my eyes
ready to baptize my spirit
in holy perversions.
I am saint when I am hooked
to the toxic.
Beautiful to the last
the last of the beautiful,
angel petals stab my sleep.
Volcanic heart, feral urges,
I shadow queer kings totheir vanities
like a vampire on Artery Street
and bleed them of fat and ego.
Wealthy shine
fortunes for underdogs,
murders for scars.
I repent in suffering
as my devil tongue lashes at sores.
Soul hound baying
among fermenting flowers,
rabid for scented poison
and curious to the universe.
I am one big mass of rattlesnakes
and lambs,
(fury of the dead and dying)
waiting for silence.
Cherubims in pirhana
rest in corals inside my lungs,
ready to strike the snake
and beat its crazes.
Batter dragons
stone the drugged liver.
These bones are dry now
clean of buzzards...
@Steven Francis Poems 2003
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