High Dive - WHY?

Driving forward with the heart

Of a dark hoard of tyrants

With past deeds behind them

Blood black as iron

On fast steeds a-riding

With flaming broadswords

And on all fours beside them

With shrill screams like sirens

From hell, speedy ranks of

Fiends, flanked, a-wiling

Then looking down, crying, «Lord, God!»

Louder than a smokey whore’s cough

In the crowded powder room of a sports bar at dusk

Her gut cramped up as her teeth did chatter

With the shame of poor dad to blame for core matter

Like four glass homes in a driving storm shattered

She turned around and climbed back down

The diving board ladder