poem #685

At the world’s end; A paper house, set on fire
Its majesty wrenched free from the earth
Its spires burned free of their berth
Old men of fairy tales, Screaming from each window
"Save us from each other, Save us from ourselves"
Watching, the house ascends
Into ashes and embers
Into ashes and fireflies

ingress

watched the wheel not moving
bored to selfish anger
i was not a child. this was yesterday.
i rubbed my earlobes, imagined pulse
seconds before and after the pump-action gun in my chest
blows the face off yet another lover
my body holds the light
that seems so visible to others;
risible in my thoughts, so easily spurred,
so commonly spurned

i know the line of her, that string of words
they depend on her for life and happy they are
because she never lets them down
as they leave those lips, more are cloned
to make their way
to where they've been before,
a vast estate inside her skull
the sheer'd energy foaming on her tongue
isn't she lovely, this Venus of the commonplace
is she not unique like everyone else

more tomorrow. and