Fire waits in the pod.
You call it danger; I call
Tuesday afternoon.
Pepper seeds whisper.
They know you will not survive.
I nod in agreement.
Green flames lick the air.
Heat bends the rules of nature.
I remain unbothered.
Your tongue begs for peace.
Mine learned war from Carolina.
Respect the reaper.
Stir the molten red.
Each bubble dares you to try.
Chili keeps score, friend.
Capsaicin sunrise.
Weak souls hide behind their milk.
I float through the burn.
Peppers test your soul.
Weak tongues flee the first ember.
I rise from the flame.
Flames erased my form.
Only memory kept shape—
Now my head drifts on.
Body turns to ash.
Green fire keeps my head alive.
I drift, still hungry.
Mild sauce on your plate.
You call this flavor? I yawn.
Wake me when it burns.
Your mild sauce trembles.
It fears the peppers I know.
I don’t blame the stuff.
Chili night begins.
You brag now, but soon you’ll sweat.
I drift, unimpressed.
I have burned the flesh
that once lived on my body—
green fire tastes sweet still.
Late one night I stirred my chili,
green flames rising, wild and silly,
when a memory of my body
floated through my mind once more.
Once I had a form of muscle,
punk‑rock swagger, heat and hustle;
till a pepper’s nuclear bustle
left me just a head that soars.
Now I drift above the stockpot,
haunting kitchens, craving more.
Heat is all I’m living for.
To burn, or not to burn —
a question I once pondered
before the green fire.
My body chose “to burn,”
and left my head behind it,
floating like bad news.
Heat makes philosophers
of even the foolish ones;
I learned this too late.
Now I drift through kitchens,
a glowing reminder that
spice rewrites your fate.
From MacDeath, Act III, Scene 1 (as performed by Dead Ned the Chilihead)
“Burn, burn, green‑glowing flame,
Torch of my undoing.
What mortal fool bites fire
And expects to stay whole?
My body fled the heat,
But my head, stubborn, remained—
Hovering, cursed, alive.”
