Smiling At Rapists

I am suffocating
in these dying flames.
I can handle the Hate
but not the Love,
just a kiss from anywhere
would pacify the storm.

Forever weeping
by the one armed bandit
begging for a spark
to ignite my belly.
They don't see the trembling
under this beard,
my quicksilver friends
(my enemies).

End of cruelty,
the stagger in my story
is burning like Vietnam
on this moon pinched face.
I sense a mood change,
a skulking Nazi,
is it the devil
trying to finger my privacy?

Is there a corner
of quiet shades where I can hide?
Or a bloated theatre
where I could scream unnoticed
and shelter from blood and coca-cola?
Where upon these frowns
will I find serene milk?
Am I to forgive?
And will it remedy this clicking heart?

The rages struggle
as I tie them to my bones
and turn my cheek toward daylight
where brother souls hang out.
These junkie cravings
for revenge cannot stay,
with their prolonged agonies
and fiery thirst.
Gothic wishes must no longer run
along excited nerve endings,
if I am to be calmed
I must be smiling at my sinners...

@Steven Francis poems 1998