There always was something reckless in your mind,
a violence and a sounding out of time, not unlike
that poetry you emulate, the exiled scholar of dark extremities
who brooded on those terrors – a deepening abyss
from which your modern myth of streets takes shape;
it still kicks in like a Harley – clean and pure,
a road trip to the desert, a natural inferno
where the sun bakes bones down and down;
and you can be alone in its white light
like some mad prophet of black metal and chrome,
seeking not a god, but answer to crimes of love and war;
no sweet child of Jesus here, just a dark pretender
facing inward toward that darker sphere,
that place of no place, the pit
within your secret self, that lost cause
where you lost your innocence, a beguiling kiss:
standing there burning, burning like a dark tower –
awaiting the bladed day that cuts both ways at this ungodly hour.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.
Dr. Rinaldi's Horror Cabinet 
Well done Steven, very well done. Best>KB
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thank you, K.A. I have to admit this is probably the first one since I started back writing poetry that I really feel things suddenly came together in my own voice incarnated as poet. It’s odd how suddenly one takes on the hues of one’s own poetic self. This will be the poem to lead off my book when it gets published down the way.
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Reblogged this on The Mirror Obscura and commented:
A poem filled with energy and import. >KB
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I find writing from Harley space difficult. I’ve never pulled it off to my satisfaction, probably because I can’t find the voice. I always sound phony to myself. Perhaps I’m afraid of myself there. But to the point, this is a really good poem.
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Thank you! I understand. Yep… always hard to slip into that world with poetry, more of a dip into noir, a sort of road trip into hell and back; but, of course I’ve been there too, more than once. Yea, I try to be as honest about it as I can in my poetry, just let the words lay as they lay.
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The three last “stanzas”(do you call it like that or just sentences?) where the perfect ending. In my humble opinion.
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