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The following can also be found in the book The Heatseeker. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy; or click here for the rules to writing the type of poetry shown here.
There is a
horrible haughty little monster that
eats and shits inside of me
Heat Seeker is what I call it; it doesn't
enjoy this name. Then again, it hates me.
And I hate it.
The Heat Seeker escapes its jail every so often
Sucks people bone-dry
Eggs them on
Examines them for their weaknesses
Kicks an open can of kerosene
eagerly onto splashing knees, lights a match, watches the
red essence of life licking skyward, reaches
in, opens its mouth,
swallows it whole and creeps back into its jail
Battles have been fought
inside my insides
Glowing red flares in stomachs
Artillery shells in my bloody urine
Now the battle is twenty five years old, still
deeply raging, collecting its corpses and counting the
ruined in its wake.
Eagerly the Heat Seeker plots its course of revenge
dimly aware of the
thousand points of
heat left in its wake
Entrenched in its singular goal of
harboring all energy of all people with an eerie
efficiency you will not realize until too late
After the first burns
Two seconds after the wooden match is lit
Scales falling from your
eyes, suddenly knowing
Everyone attempts to analyze the
killing machine inside; I try to
escape the big jail it has built for me
Round and round we dance and we are
wrapped in a sexual position
inherently perverse, a pornographic infinite dance around the
lips of rusty cans,
large lips licking
kabuki rhythms on my brain,
inching ever closer to my heart.
Lapping miles a yard long, the Heat Seeker is
looking to take the big jail, to stuff
your hero into the
offensively small one inside me, to squeeze me in
utterly, finally, for good.
Darkness threatens me
early, so I now speak
about the Heat Seeker, so that
damage will be minimized. So that you will know.