The Fireclowns (Opening Verses)

1. Pandemonia

The unabide of what little vanities
one may endure-- the test of the
inordinate creature, to each suffered
by some small degree of time
and life, is what the mind or heart
chooses to remember

Beyond the drop of a lash, within
that blink an infinitismally brief
nod to peer beyond all of this angry
toys

As the locust wept a fiddler's lament
sate upon the summer's spend
of energies and passions that now
lay cold, undone within the devils' field

"Come down off your throne
and leave your body alone--
Somebody must change"...

A restless calming overtook him
after he had long unlocked the spirits
hidden deep within the colored-glass
bottle and they swept through him-- mercilessly

A possession of the heart's own vampires
fallen and taken aback to a place, not so
unalike the grave-- another rebel of gravity
stolen from Heaven's eye and thus transfixed
and mesmerized by the glittering dancer
locked deep within the stone

"You are the reason I've been waiting here so long--
Somebody holds the key"...

Naked, save for the mask; a grotesquerie
of a clown's face such as the old Europeans
may have designed such an inhuman
feature to make themselves feel...

A marionette of the intangible fed
those bare soles into the grains of the wood,
keeping herself away from the floor and
frantic (perhaps) to escape the lights
that defined her presence, without shadow

So oversept and mis-spent, he had become
one more of the helpless audience to the
nameless, seemingly hapless, creature
behind the silver mask

"Well, I'm near the end and I just can't find the time"...

Hidden unto these dark charms,
and thus to appease the cabal
of those engorged, lustful daemons
that the creature-heart will call upon...

The bloom of fresh frenzies
drawn and drug out from the earth
from the bottom-less pit of the insatiable mind
and small fears too numerous to separate

From the spirits and angels
cold and distant as the wind,
A punk-tooth mis-grown
deep within the back of the head

"Well, I'm wasted and I can't find my way home."

"The Rose," the name trickled forth from
his lips as soon as his mind had seized
upon it again

That, as near as soon as some small
piece of memory had been recovered,
did this perversed passion play rebegin
by the entrance of a figure in white.
Over its chest was a painted green slash;
masculine and mercurial...

"We're a ship without a storm
the cold without the warm
a light inside the darkness that it needs"...

He, that was known as Punk-Tooth
felt a sudden urge to laugh, and yet
his breath forbid it's escape from
inside of his lungs, where it grew
darker and swelled like an incurable disease

As she that was the dancer Rose
tripped and fell backwards... away
as if trying to hide from the Light
of another peculiar being

"We're a laugh without a tear
a hope without the fear;
and we are coming...
HOME!"...

Punk-Tooth felt his eyes grow heavy,
and dull as the robed figure extended
forth and accusatory finger, pointed down
to where she began to writhe, as if it had
somehow touched her, and buried itself
somewhere deeply between pleasure and pain

"We're off to the witch!
We may never ever come home,
but the magic that we'll steal is worth a lifetime!...

We're all born upon the cross !
in the throw before the toss!...
You can release yourself
but the only way to go is down!"...

Punk-Tooth's eyes narrowed slightly
as he the dagger flash and turn outwards
within the white robed figure's hand

"We don't come alone
We are fire!
We are stone!--
We're the hand that writes then quickly moves away..."

Punk-Tooth's eye widened as the
white creature rose over the naked
woman, itself wearing a similar clown-like
mask of gold-- and laughter, like shock,
erupted up from out of his throat
as that unforgiving blade
plunged downwards upon her.

"We'll know for the first time... If we're evil or divine we're the last in line!"

Peace,
Po