There is a funeral pyre that I built as I walk. A parade of orange flames down the street, blue centers lapping like puppies still trying to get my attention. But I left my long ago heart in that red hot and I let that ache burn with the a wooden residue that lies thick on all my clothes and the tongue where I kissed you. I left the love, I left the lover but, Oh! the embers wear me round my neck like a necklace glisten in the sun and ashes keep repeating in the cyclone of the wind about the fire. I lit a break, Struck a match to patch the hole. And everywhere I go I am the mourner and the deceased. Outliving the unlivable after all.