Fire Down Below

How many times has the tall man burned?
Even the spirits in the bag can't put out the fire.

At the underground station,
the tall man with the ash grey beard
makes his move on a younger man,
trying to be cool
with a broad hipped woman dangling from his arm.

"Hot ain't it?"
His voice freezes the younger into form.
He's a young sun king,
from the suburbs,
trained in the subrosa,
but not in this kingdom.
This is the real undercity,
where yet another shadowman
sits plucking two noted bluesflowers
on his guitar, the case open for offerings.
In this dark duet, one sings; the other burns.
Pay the ferrymen under the street called Division.

The young sun king says louder,
he hopes, than his heartbeat,
"I wish the heat would break."

The tall man lights a long brown cigar;
"Yeah-h-h" Like steam, the answering
makes the world wetter and even warmer.

The younger sidles away along the tunnel's edge.
But the smoke snakes around,
makes the sun king and his queen choke,
clouds their view of any way out.
Ceiling bulbs flower upsidedown;
rumbles rise from the ground.

Then, the god from the machine erupts
and swallows the story whole.
The young king and queen leave with their train,
and the tall man waits
breathing out their days,
breathing in their nights,
the fire down below.