Furnace

Mephisto exists within my own heart

In the black-veined passages that

Disguise their means, in the rib-stashed

Furnace replete with incinerated flowers

I consume all who would trespass on this

Seething womb through the appropriation

Of false intimacies, all who bare the graceless

Articulations of the Sybarite, I will not not

Lie  in your bed as upon a sacrificial altar

And you will know neither my flesh nor

My vision

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Do not place your hands, as if in clay, upon my

Soul. I will not be rendered misshapen under

Your artistic vanity. I have no use of your

Dead Sea dreams, the saline of a love-struck

Narcissus lost in his reflection as it rests

Upon my eyes, unseen. I have no use of

Smiles, silk-spun, that would ensnare,

Of words double-sided that adhere lips

And tongue to back-alley promises that

Can not endure the light of morning

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Only one whose intentions are sincere could

Unlock these wrought-iron doors and find heaven

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This is a bit older actually but its hard to write when you can’t see that well

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