Six Times As Much As Six

Oh where for thou art!
Cavort through metal stalks
toward adder throated kings
laying lower than a baptist.
Daughter of a bamboo bruise,
the hunt six six six,
for birch bodied kettle teens
who hark for cadaver lined strumpets,
toppling on their bayonet heels
and hitching up their wolves for howling.

God rest the mission 666;
wake digital spells unto homebrews.
march gator heads to their hernias
to hernias in shadows
where domed headed children
lurk below as punks.
Always beneath
the simmering blast of summer
blinds a devil's eye
and bands of saturated flesh
seep death sauce to its hunter...

©Steven Francis poems 2013