I take the gloom I find at night 

And humble it under a mountain of moving sulphur clouds

Till it glows red.

My East side, I rock as baby, s.l.o.w.l.y 

It becomes a victim of sleep

I calcine my West side in the Kiln

Till I grow hot enough to fry my own tears

I burn and burn in patches of a soft yellow,

A rash orange and crimson - thanks to my morning fever

Then I stagger as a brittle shoot in a tornado

Panting for an old delight and a light.

The cigarettes know their way around my lips

Their trails along my backdropped tongue 

They ignite eased craters to raging volcanoes

Setting off sprays of magma in the air

Outflows of molten iron in lakes of ecstasy 

Pouring as wine.

I inhale and smoke torrents flail as spurts of raining ashes

I exhale, clouds rive and fall like snow

And after the day runs and evening seeps

I lay on a crooked chair and rock my East side awake

To set the night ablaze