I Want to Write the Fire

I want to write the fire.
To catch its curls on my fingers and twist them as they
Twist me,
As the wind twists us.

I wish to capture it before it floats away and disintegrates,
To speed coalescence on its way as the breeze speeds the boats in my eyes,
To put a ceiling over the blaze and watch it burn within the walls of my own consciousness.

I want to put it in ink
And watch it try to run away.
I want to have it in front of me in my own hand glowing and smoldering,
In bleached white paper,
Preaching its lack of control across its two dimensional prison,
Spreading its distraction to the four corners of existence.

I want the unpredictability,
The vigor.
The spark of life in my pen and at the tips of my fingers,
And above them, around them, inside them,
Throughout myself.

I want to write the fire on the page of my chest
And watch the tendrils of voracious indifference spread beauty and chaos in equal measures across the entirety of what is known.
I want to become the blaze.
I want to rise from ashes,
Not a phoenix but a golem of the pictures shown in the caves of our minds.

I want the glow of insanity to be the light in my eyes.
I want the revelations of my mind to be the insecurities of millions.
I want the terror of life that I feel incessantly to increase to fever as the heat burns away the healthy cells, leaving desiccation and dehydration in a burning swath of rich, red velvet.

I want to write the fire.
I want my words to burn.


Have you ever walked out
Into the all-American white-blue-blackness
To see a deserving sin
Burnt for its inhumanity

Only to see the patriotic flag
Raining cold soft complaints of unfairness
On your righteous indignation?

I have,
But I stood in the rain
A flame in the palm of my hand,
And I saw to it
That all the sin was burned

Right down to my own flesh.

To My Lightning Rod in Times of Stormy Darkness

To my lightning rod in times of stormy darkness,
I just love watching you light up the night.
The whistling crack of your mind speeding past mine
Electrifies me subtly, raising hairs and sucking sleep from my memory.
What would destroy me merely sparkles in your eyes
As you feed on the energy in the air around us,
St. Elmo’s fire flying from your fingertips and flaying my heart
With the cautious gentility of an attentive lover’s touch.