it's the smoldering
slight crackle of a joint,
a cigarette

the sizzling spark
slithering to set off fireworks,
TNT

the blackening wick
burning up wax
or wood

fire set to photographs,
slow swirling smoke
rising above red flags

he promised the moon,
he promised the stars,  
made the girl from Venus
love the guy from Mars

and he gave them to her,
all of these things--
a bright white dress,
a sparkling ring

but each moon has a dark side,
each star does die out,
forms a depthless blackhole
of crippling doubt

standing at the start,
the end for some others

take the first step,
then take another

that's it,
sit
spend some time here,
nothing to fear here,
lie down, but
stand,
keep moving, and

look around,
you are bound
to be late
and
right on time, too,
so, slow down, you
know,
the view is great
on both sides

And afterward,
I gather the roses at my feet,
white petals fall, splatter the stage

I lift each stem to my lips
with haste
They cheer,
but I do not fear the bite,
the taste--
earthy, metallic,
sharp.

I smile at their applause, my funny heartbeat,
while slow lines of blood slide
over my lips, drip
down my chin,
juice from a ripe peach,
dropping
onto soft white petals

I used to go
swallowing matches
filling up on lightbulbs,
light lunches

second degree burns
through my throat, I
coughed up blood,
splintered glass, ash

but the moths in my stomach,
they loved it, you see,
flitted around just for a glimpse,
a tiny ray,
until
blood-soaked wings
stopped
sinking insects
dropped

"good morning" every morning
and a warm smile,
a wistful sigh sometimes

unsettlingly deep
sweetly intense
dark and gleaming brown eyes
looking toward me, for me
again and again and again

he said my smile was like
a spring morning

and i was afraid,
aggravatingly afraid

cold and bemused
careful blue eyes
looking away and away
and away