Bloody Queen Mary
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
When fed from underneath, a flame is hard
To quench. The fire burns from the deepest down
Domains. The hottest flame cuts like a shard
Of sapphire set in Satan’s bluest crown
Of oxyacetalyne like a spike
Carved out of bluest stars, yet it is in
Me. Freud would find it quickly. Do not strike
A Lucifer match too near my crotch. Sin
Would flare, flare up unquenchably and set
Those near me into conflagration far
Beyond control. A searing semen jet
Would be like napalm from my central spar.
..Archbishop Cranmer knows exactly what
….I mean. He stretched his hand to glow more hot.