Sin-e-cru--cured

all the blasts have come and gone, save me for your headaches.
tomorrow's night cannot be long while the lights are steady.
referees in t-shirts, samples made of cake frosting,
a hat for all the snow to catch, a wistful gong forgetting
what sound it sung back to its hooks
what laugh you've lost to the kitchen nook

here a piece and there a piece and nary a sound is left
there a scrap and here a nap when all the floors are swept.
off with your head and off with your head and on
to the fallen soldiers. their hairs are long
when the keening's done, they leap from their bodies
like mash in the sour wood--flame licked and tame.

i'll not boss the forge, i'll not anvil the hammer.
i'll not wash my hands, they'll stay dry forever.