oh gas fire,
this weeks as long as a catholic wedding
the new year hysterical drunk relative in its middle
i poison myself, gas fire, in the agreed ritual
of treated grape and grain
oh gas fire,
next week's a shrink wrapped sodden groan
a doubtful hope without legs killed by the starters pistol
my flesh is spilt Bosch and photos of New York
and the
bottles of Jameson are legend now,
i stroke dust from their elegant necks
oh gas fire,
smeared black skids where i burned you with long matches
i'm grateful for the whooosh/the unasking heat
the clean burnout/the peace in the roar
i know gas fire,
there is work to do
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