…as my room burned, I could go on. Edit 1 for serge.

[Brownlie]

Wired by tailgates flashed in cheers
of honeyed circumstance,
we pander
to our skinned canoes. Fire! Fire!
Only by creosote burning black
like waxed and oiled up scrub-land pharaohs,
you were liquidised.
I left.

Tracking rotors beat and cut the cute puffed airs
and graces; kings could curtsy in the grain of wood
they polished.
Buffered thoughts bare. Fire! Fire!
Counterweighted bones with blades
still stuck in cleft and crevice where you hid from me.
You were pulverised.
I laughed.

Come and strip this bandage from the crispened flakes
of what the faith once was, close to shanks of shame that
stayed closed.
Berenice was left to Poe instead. Fire! Fire!
Read it to your familiars, lift the arms of nippled breasts
and count out one, two, three.
You were traumatised.
I loved.

Where now?
You lose.
You lose again.

Tectak
2013

What is going on in this poem? Maybe others will get it.