The heart is an untamed wilderness.

He asks me if I want a fire somewhere.

Could desire be like fury on the
wall of your broken glass?

Its thoroughbred beating is
not afraid to die.

Would you cry at my funeral?

There, the Waterford ashtray narrates.

Can you hear me cultivating pleasures
just the same as stained gables?

Men is what does the damage.
Scream.


Sara Fielder © Dec 2018