Hot In a Careless Way

I’m hot in a careless way, Like a barn fire, or a stolen Mercedes. I’m the B-side of a 45 That never got much air play Except at the request of lonely girls Sitting home on prom night With thin slivers of moonlight Slipping through their drapery To caress their disappointments. I’m an organ grinding gypsy, A vendor of cognitive provocations, Subliminal symbolism, And academic totems. My vagrant delinquencies Have accustomed me To settle my accounts With handy lay about cash; My ledgers are always well balanced. So, when I need a little bodily love, When I need a little bodily love, Yes, when I need a little bodily love I summon that sylvan nymph coven Of nubile forest vixens To witch their carnal spells With dirty talk and tongue lashings That cleanse my insecurities And teach me the usefulness of emptiness.