Marked Man

Dealt a dirty hand
from a dirt-marked deck
I can’t see through cards
I can’t see behind your face

brain’s a black box
raked from air-crashed ashes
there could be anything in there;
dead dogs and ashes
a missile from the stars
or god’s private number,
either way it’s sealed so tight
all I can do is
strike it with my borrowed fist
and catch a few sparks,
see if I can light up
a bonfire that way

fire a wedge
between my brain and my mind;
if you had cancer would you shout
‘it’s mine!’ and let it love you
to death
or would you beat it back down
with a heavy drug-shovel

you fester my soul
but the sparks are gathering
the flames are leaping,
you and me boy
we’re going to throw ourselves
on the blaze
and burn the fucking world.