this isn’t a poem
it’s a rant
to follow a pattern
and enchant
another line

i was given a secret so simple
it almost drove me mad

remembering
great feats
and even greater beasts
that flowed
just under the surface
driving towards a random number
something like 200

fighting and fucking
artificial intelligence
has got nothing on me

under neon black holes
midnight winds howl
and whip our souls

as the dogs of satan
call for one more score
following the escape
of an unburdened whore

and now
as winter closes it’s icy fingers
around our throats
we wait in ruin
for the reprieve
that only fire can bring