Covered With Holy Dust

I’m bone kiln weary, night and day for three days and still going.  She a big bad girl this kiln, eats wood by the cord, belching smoke, and flames that drive you back on your haunches.  High maintenance too, keeps you up, drags you out, rain or shine, cold or wind, storm or calm she doesn’t care, “tend me” she roars and she knows we will.  Young punks tend her mostly, like priests apprentices throwing wood on fires and stroking her long body constantly peeking in her heart to ensure she’s making the earth she’s made for.  We only wake her once a year cause once she’s awake it's all hands on, holding her cosmic fusion tamed like sinking hot rods in hard water.  She’s a big bad girl this beast but a week from now she’ll deliver her goods, cosmic nuggets, space debris, like shards from Saturn’s rings and for those strong enough to have held her down they will hold their shards, shards that have skimmed by heaven and are now covered with holy dust.