With tomorrow comes the freshest of catch,
floundering forward into the gill net,
of the savage beast that lurks in the pitch;
of the carnal man whose soul lost it’s bet.
At the end awaits the scalding black pot,
stuffed with earthly pleasures and lobster tail,
flavors that ambitious chefs have forgot;
flavors that dying men request from jail.
Dark fingers raked over mahogany,
beckoning for the next guest to enter,
hungry now---for a lost epiphany;
hungry now---for a languishing dinner.
Feast or famine sows the fields with evil,
lovely candle light meal with the Devil.