just taking what’s
given. I must be foolish. an industry Fire, she looks sad. I’ll leave that
alone. many more worthy to concern with Fire. too grown to do damage. too empty
to hold a grudge. too unexplained. I float passed, life is moving motion, a
galaxy between us—so close, such contradiction, must outlive it, must chase it,
it’s a difficult mechanism—pain feeling normal, suspicious of my smiles,
conditioned to marinate, a watchful soul, trekking city to valley, encouraged
to ignore Fire—what now!
left much to
distance, familiar pain is comforting, alienated inside, favoring moonlight.
eating uneasiness, kneading misery, still at core happiness; designs must be
mastered, sense/see patterns, I scream at self.
never felt that
way. mania is a mystery. I know she has memories. I skate to her, I laugh with
her, I keep her at a distance—life as a hostage, perfumes wafting, never
realizing what we see.
Fire is booming,
too much ingested so quickly, melancholy has attached itself … the mystery is
beauty.
I remember a
child, sensing fever, nothing like true rivers; I sit aside sunshine, I gaze
into cornfields, I walk swatting nameless bugs.
I live inside, like
an eastern priest, feeling banned from Africa.
Fire keeps
appearing. some of us examine when a person keeps inside.
next to dreams, I’ve
destroyed many dreams, I see a mirror, I chuckle a little, I disappear.
maybe it was meant
to happen, maybe Fire is aware, maybe the god in me—dines with the god in you.
