Broken bones, cracked wood, bullet holes
concrete jungle, trashed hoods
events parted souls.
New generation,
burned eyes, pictures burned within
the frame of mind.
Flicker like flames, burning bright
like daytime. Behaviour leaving
vague signs..smokesignals.
Adding oil, fake signs
attracted like a moth to the flame
the pyromaniac saves time.
set-up, stamp time
written the punchline
**** it, it's lunchtime
This One Ate Seven Poets
Get burned lines
like the horizon touching the *sunrise