The Pyre

The pulsing,

the weaving,

the unnerving mass.

The anger,

the hatred,

they cut you in half.

The turmoil,

the tantrum,

the oil on water.

The fire,

and the ice,

and they're growing shorter.

These manufactured

machinations

of fire and heat.

The distractions,

concatenation

and untenable feast.

What have we done

to take this thing

so far in the wrong direction?

What should we do

to get this thing -

so much for quiet reflections.

The churning

the turning

the bubbling.

The pyre.

The wearing

the working

my god

we're on fire.

The heat

and

the hate

and

the terror they bring.

The fire and the lightning,

hail to the king?