Hang this man; burn this man
Put to death, my imperfection,
built me now, a recreation
Pore, scar, wart, mole, roll, stye –
a straying eye
God is in the details
and don't forget the darkened husks of azure eyes
Somewhere my scarecrow
is watching and waiting
crash through the tree line
and hoist him up shaking
effigy – I burn the waste of me,
I douse in kerosene
these eyes of birthstone December cauterize
Blight the sky
and send my sins on high,
in plumes the man I knew
Takes flight in flickered release
of beautiful butane blue
Unwashed mass of follicles and folly
Scar, pores and poor decisions
Raise me up; twist the noise; my abuses
are never more to stain another life –
my war crimes excreted
somewhere my scarecrow
is writhing and wailing
below the furnace
and smell my sins melting
effigy...
skull, heal,
skin, peal,
bones, wood,
be, good
ember to mannequin of dry timber,
tin hips and leather lips smooth from my life
my former self painstakingly rendered
crab-louse coat shorn from wriggling wasteflesh,
wisp and wither
effigy...
butane blue, butane blue…