Sometimes

Sometimes I remember the dragon skin,
sullen, sulking,
huffing fire to get attention.

My rusty armor has been shed
and I have closets
of worn out dread.

Sometimes I put on an old suit
to feel the edges pierce my flesh again,
enter my too-good-natured soul.

Bitterness can feel life-giving,
coursing through predictable veins,
quickening the mundane.

Resentment, childishness and contempt
embolden the little church lambs
who graze on the anemic stubble of compliance.

They allow the wolves to suck marrow
from once strong bones,
leaving them invisible.

To be tamed is a horrible lot,
to lose the pulse of freedom
for the good of an indifferent herd.

Sometimes selfishness is terribly underrated.
The stalking beast
uses all means at her disposal
to snap the neck of her prey.

Waiting under the sun, panting,
her eyes lifted behind hungry incisions,
prowling, bored, restive,
she awaits the weak,
hungry for adrenaline release.

Ecstasy is the mother of all tragedy,
swords clenched nobly in the fists of warriors,
the guttural cry of an enemy
pierced and gutted.

Sometimes life is fire,
changing shape and hue
and with each sputter
the apocalypse makes all things new.

I envy the stallion with his erection
wobbling like the balance bar
of a high-wire walker,
defying gravity, damning convention.

Spectators pay to see death mounted,
pierced, pumped full of new life;
or to see some poor bastard crushed like a Dungbeetle,
or clawed lifeless
by the sweet kisses of the huntress.

Sometimes I am possessed, I admit it.
You may call it demonic,
psychotic, or you may collect your thrill
by watching me win as you lose.
And I enjoy your pain,
and sometimes,
so do you.

end/Michael