Kids set fire to southern churches
and god turned a blind eye
to this spectacle
when he sent flames to ravage
the flatlands.
the dirge of a dying politician's
diseased voice strains
through the blown out
crackling speakers in my
car that was shaking apart
as we drove further West
towards the smoke and sirens,
the highway coddling it's median,
black with charred grass.
Sun shone through a cracked window,
while outside, the shimmering
wheatfields and acres of sunflowers
were pushing us farther
into unknown territories,
the many fenceposts passing like hours,
we want them to go quickly...
something better must be hiding
beyond that next plateau.
We clung religiously
to our notebooks
and copies of "Being and Nothingness ",
a pen in one hand,
a lighter in the other,
discussing ways to twist the words of others
into our own truths.
The butane flames dance,
igniting the scorched images
of smoldering plains and wooden beams,
angels crucified with the
damning politics of hope.