Evil is a man in a suit who has no face.
He wears mine, he wears yours -
He keeps them in a book
To select ego-mask disguises.
He is the man who runs the trains.
He is the man who strikes the deal.
Who stares back from the mirror?
External devils are poor scapegoats,
Useful fearmongers for the preacher-kings.
Look within. Delete your disguise.
Evil is a man in a suit who wears your face -
Do not let him control your hands.

This is such a small life,
Battling no demons but our own.
And yet, I see an adventure here -
An adventure, dear,
And I think you might be worth the risk.

Am I too much?
Hard to swallow, a bitter pill?
Am I raw and unprocessed,
Undiluted, concentrated,
Too spicy for your stomach?

Good.

Choke on it.

I won’t cut myself
To bite-size pieces.
I am not a convenient product.

My feathers are not plucked,
My hair is unshorn,
My feet are unshod,
And the muscle of my thigh
Is for kicking, not meat.

Do you not like the taste?
Poor spoiled glutton,
You cannot acquire it.

Find your refined sugar elsewhere –
I do not come pre-packaged.

No sweet tooth have I
A sharp edge to my tongue.
The bitter keen North wind
Is bite-strong and savoured.
Winter storms soothe
Cold salve on the heartsore.
Life-water drunk deep
Is all peat smoke and pyres.