Backdraft

proffer a painful thorn as a shameful trade
in the changing winds before the test of ash,
or suffer the bitter gasping at a sense of tasting
light as it was supposed to be.

incubate the motive for a votive candle vigil.
amplify the theatrical badgering of passersby
who step on the intellectual sidewalk chalk lines
wearing impostors shoes and dancing
between the eyes of aging halogen nights.

confiscate the moment ignition finds a wick;
make camp in the heat of vigorous affinity,
if only for the sake of the heartbeat’s state
of minding one’s own affairs until it bends
the other way in the beckoning smolder
of signals fired over head.

Remind me of sulfur’s place on the chart
When thunderbolts would suffice to begin
the predictable procession of feelings on cue
for the chosen few who chose to breathe
the low-yield oxygen heights of deepest fear

If I could ever be any clearer,
I would be a window,
yet I remain a door.

Reviews

[...]

. you can be who you want to be if you can write like that ... and if you can define your time ... an immensely insightful read ... literacy for the amateur word artisan in me ...