I first started eating fire for money, 
quick sips of butane and bottled beer, 
small bets in the bar with drunks, 
but then I grew 
to love the taste, the raw 
and acrid burn as it extinguishes. 

Every day I chew the fruits 
of the earth, fill myself with 
water and air to stay alive, 
but it is fire that stokes the engine, 
fire that is the hamster on the wheel, 
fire that brings me closer 
to the ash I will become. 

I have saturated my body 
with the honeyed smell 
of arson, sweet and 
volatile as religious rumor, 
holy cool tongues dancing 
like lozenges made of fireflies. 

(When Moses first saw 
the burning bush 
he ran away 
driven not by fear but desire, 
sweet tremor 
and when he returned 
reached his hand 
into the inferno and began 
to pluck and then consume 
the fiery berries. Branch 
by flaming branch he ate the 
rest, and smoldered with 
the unnamable. When he tried 
to describe the texture, 
everything came out as law.)