Uttering a vowel. Semantics of the soul in the shape of a bud
Each attempt to embrace the simple truth
Ignites the sky in red flames till nothing is left
But a charred scroll of the day’s parchment
Bravely, the alphabet duals with my pen
Over which stars escape the ink.
Nothing. Nothing.
Just incense and dreams
And a wave of a hand dismissing emotions
Crumpled paper days on a riot across the room
Muting words with sips of toxic java
And hands shaking ... holding up cardboard cerebral walls
Building a temple with every touch

the past is only the past
the fire in the moment
will always be in the moment
nothing can really be salvaged
only the memory
of the past fires
i step from the balcony
over the egde i see the boy
who stoned my car
and i am left with the thought
of actually hurting him
its only the fire
its only the past

-------
A~Me