Lucifer

I get him, I totally do, oh
light-bringing morning star.
I hear Venus and the comedian,
laughing up another “sunny” day,
a hyena laugh of absurdity.

Dearest Christopher, my danger man,
the guy in leather blowing jazz riffs,
bohemian roadster gunning to a far horizon,
a pack of cigs rolled in his shirt sleeve,
oh lord of light, star generator.

Some call him fallen, oh son of dawn,
but really, he’s just a skeptic
railing against the order because
who wouldn’t?
Give the slime a glint and then—
condemn the glint to darkness?
Yo, bro of Prometheus, both kahuna defiers,
bringer of fire and free will, oh why makers,
igniters of the enquiring mind,
I get where you’re coming from.

Poor Prom, in eternal agony, all that liver pain,
not even from the fun of too much hooch.
What kind of sicko administers this pointless torture?
I get the big fuck-you over the grand plan.
I’m that bratty child no longer captivated by
love and circuses, who asks, as houses burn,
Is that all there is? Yeah, well, then let’s
break out the booze and keep dancing.