How my stomach burns

This furnace of man

Burns so temporary and small

That I kindle and kindle

And each day with a stack of new

Burn through an appetite of a thousand men

And yet still

With just a pint of cold

My blazing fire small

Still demands its rightful place

Each night

Amongst the heavens true

And the heights of taste

Where the crunch and closing of eyes

Comes though

Always a furnace

Always hungry