fuel assembly

Goodnight Monster

Turn the screws in my neck
till the image of man
rests stoic on lips fresh untrembled
Let the lightning pretend
that it’s something like hope
not a fire just to fuel the assembled

Let the words that I read
wrapped in cow skin and dust
serve me like every preacher and parrot
like professors and poets
politicians and prats
Let my small mind stay small, so to bear it

Let the townspeople’s ire-
Let their pitchforks and fire
till their land, warm their hearth, and forget me
That the strength of my grip
turns the fragile to dust
that I’ve hurt everyone who has met me

Let the hunger remain
as I hide in the dark
Let each supple curved line of the flesh
carve in lust and hot dreams
over terrified screams
in my memory, leave me thus blessed

For if ever they go:
flesh blueprints and a storm
for the appetite, sadness, and need
I’ll be empty again
every storm sees its end
every vulture and rat need to feed