A madman in his most incandescent bloom

Listening to Charle Mingus' Town hall concert and this fantastic poem:
(thanks for the transcription)

This mule ain't from Moscow, this mule ain't from the South,
But this mule's got some learning - mostly from mouth to mouth.
This mule could be called stubborn and lazy.
But in a clever sort of way, this mule's been waiting and planning,
And working - in seclusion - for a sacred kind of day.

the day that burning sticks - or crosses - is not mere child's play,
but a madman in his most incandescent bloom,
whose loveless soul is imperfection
in its most lustrous bloom.

Stand fast, old mule, soothe in contemplation, Thy burning hole and aching thigh.
That your stubbornness is of the living
And cruel anxiety is about to die.
Stand fast young old mule. Stand fast.

The band (as congregation) then sings in moaning church style: "Freedom for your mama, freedom for your daddy, freedom for your brother and sister, but no freedom for me." ...