Fire and Smoke

 
The flames lick around my body
Like a whore’s tongue round my organ
Smoke and fire merge almost horizontally
My Flag unfurls like a question mark
The next flag to burn will be my own

Flames and sparks dart and dance
Like pensioners on an eighties disco night
Pillows and puffs of smoke billow
As, in paper mache, I finish my statute
The next effigy to be burned will be my leader

The fire rages as books are burned
And certainly not for the first time
There is smoke without a vision of fire
And white hot fire without the need for a bush
The next holy book to burn will be your own

Human fat sizzles like pork, fat on a tyre
The smell of rubber is an assault on the senses
It’s not only pigs that fry like bacon
We are all meat, rare or well done
The next person to be burned alive will be you