And this would be the view: the driest land

Broken barbed trees and brush

Fire hungry.

 

I’m watching them striking matches and tossing them

Watching them settle and smolder

First to grab water and dash out

 

Like a manic outside my window

Obsessed with cryptic shifts in the wind

A shadow of smoke.

 

If this were my life,

I wouldn’t even have the box

Or knowledge of the phosphorus

 

It’s not found in nature

Who would dare to purify it?

Anger in it’s fine form.

 

A name of Venus

Not a god of war but beauty-

Starting around me

 

Fatal doses

Cast around like candy

Smoldering, smoldering.

 

Baleful wind warns the tragic loss

Even against a company of rocks

They warn.

 

Showers of sparks now rising

Warming up my soul-

Who will extinguish the fire

 

Burning greedy as eyes

Searching for victims

Ah, it’s started here

 

A casting of lots

Who will win?

Who will be broken.

 

17 April 05

 

 Collection: Painting with Fingers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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