Incantations And Cinnamon Oil Poem by Mark Heathcote

Incantations and cinnamon oil cooking
Pressure heating on the stove
Makes-my-heartbreak like dry sticks
Hoping something sticks

Circulation is rising
My eyeballs are bubbling
For another garlic clove
And this temptress without any clothes
And another opium arsenic kiss

This-ain't-any Mary Magdalene
And that's for sure
And I think I'm going straight to hell
Slowly—I'm sure I'll slip away like a pimp at her door

Another ragged creature turned out at dawn
Half-crazed, diseased with no pillow to lay-on
Like potbellied pig
Without as much as a side of bacon to cling-on
Or a bed of straw

Something must-be-confessed
But I've given up all my virtues to howl at the moon
And wear my cowl and herculean dig
To lift my heart like a crucifix stone

So if you see me like suds turning away
Down another rat-infested hole
Don't forget to wave and say hello
And hear me howl at the moon

And be grateful you've still got
You're sinless harmless soul
It must be great to be a judge and a lawyer
And pass o heathen sinner and say hi
'Do I smell something cooking? '