The Devil His Due

By | 2 February 2001

The Professor of Philosophy with sad black holes in his head
riffs the collective consciousness in the Cafe of Hopeful Poets

she is negatively charged her hair writhes she is smoking
seething she reefs in her bitter tongue with the house red

pulled from the parallel universe in his briefcase with
a glittering eye reads the obscene version of her poem

he has run mad the madness that needs to know your secrets
tripped and fallen into Not Being Able To Stop Hearing Hell

find the trick of it it tricks lamentably

can end up on your knees screaming down the wire
blue bruised knees cold static stitching at your ear

not all the voices tell the truth or can be understood
into the Roger Over and Out steps God Knows What

God Knows Who some nasty bit of goods with sticky hands
who steals you from yourself ever been had for possession of

the Translator with the Wicked Tongue

the safety curtain flies and you are on stage shouting FIRE!
in a crowded theatre the muse may choose not to descend

she has the right words fly out your mouth thoughts fly out your head

the Translator rolls his eyes back whispers what is too ridiculous to believe
and the trapdoor opens in the stage beneath him for the Devil to disappear.

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