A thousand acres charred,
with a high wind guarantee
of more incinerating news.

Cinderella's crying,
read it in the morning papers.

Right now, a full moon shimmers
in the arms of a Joshuah tree
and sunset coughs,
through a brown, nicotine
filter on the far west horizon.
There's a leather clad,
whip cracking Dominatrix
devouring the terrain.

Sensuous,
she seems almost lazy.
You know you mustn't inhale
her smoke, puffed in crazy rings
the whore is never satisfied.

She promises nothing,
well, perhaps a reincarnation
will rise from the blistered demise
of her too-hot, passionate embrace;
her indifference is phenomenal.
So beautiful, so faithless
If she has a soul, it's as charred
and blackened as her heart.

Famous as a movie star,
I fan chase her, a storm
of quintessential moments
in her flash-point eyes
captured by my stuttering camera,
I never remove the red-eye.

One more picture for the road,
you temperamental Diva,
you godless goddess,
make your bow and depart!

Madame Wildfire trails
her dark cloak, enigmatically
smiling with pointed eyeteeth,
she goes anywhere she pleases.