The last to leave
the ghetto standing,
the flames
came in waves.  

Wildfires,
light up
the night skies,
horizons
Are those fire flies?
the sounds of sirens?
charred ash
black,
or
the sound of silence?

The phoenix
&
rubble
conundrum.

The standard prose,
bloodstained clothes,
and holes,
where things used to go.

Those pieces don’t fit anymore,
a malleable man,
that couldn’t stand the heat.
a flash in the pan.

We’re slightly charred by the situation,
tarnished,
yet not quite burn’t.

The smoke
smells fresh
in the
green grass.

As the time,
passed.

They made the most of those fertile soils.
They spoiled the landscapes,
with mistakes made
for the price
of oil.

Just set me on fire and let me burn
with the earth.