And before I extended my claws onto your hearth,
I dwelled within a secret passion: I brushed up on sneaking and marking the spot for my next apocalyptic arson
And yet I could never spout the rage that fuels my husk of a being onto your haven
Your abode stinks;
The reek of naïve youth and ***** lust at night
And yet I could never expunge the puny shred of mercy embedded on my aortic psyche
You win this round
For now,
my claws will try to cut the life you absorb from the air that pervades your hearth
Before they turn to fingers, before my wrath subsides in mortal disbelief of its own vulnerable
                                      humanity
I shall incite fresh fear and death inspired odes within me once again

And on a fateful humid night,
I shall let myself perspire at the sight of infant wreckage burning with fervor and life
Your abode in flames of red and azure
And if you burn,
Apologies.
I merely hope your ashes will spark the flame bright for at least a little while
Ahh...such sweltering warmth

Fire Watcher.
Spark Guarder.
You smell of ash and the past.


Yea, burning your brother's shirt on the side of the street.
Stamping the spare sparks away with the soles of your feet.
Doesn't it hurt?
Sending souls beyond into the mist?
Turning the flesh into Flagships adrift?
Burning to be with the burnt.
Returning the souls to the earth.

Watching tiny flames ride skeletal monorails to work,
  wearing a brother's shirt,
    clutching father's overcoat...
      fan, release, stoke.
When we become tinder, Fire Watcher guides the cinders.
Tender eyes and mute mouth.
Ember skies and waking owls.
The wolf is allowed to howl again.

Spark Guarder waits for it all to go out.
Forgiveness in flame.

you should know by now
that every question
is loaded
and every flame
is lit by lies

I'm standing in the dark
and I think I like it here
where the reality is reduced to ashes
but the memory burns bright as ever

you should know by now
that every answer is a spark
and I
am simply melting to pieces

soft glow
burning
burning
burning low

you – master
fire starter
blowing
coaxing
rousing to life

the forgotten inferno
of me, My, MINE
the releasing of light
shine
shine
shine

stinking rag piles
human effluent
with no
sewer to
sanitise.

I am the purge.
pocket of
gasoline
a spark in
the night.

screams call the victory
of
sweet vapours
over
living ****.

I breathe it in,
off my fingers,
as I leave.

You caused a wildfire in my chest but
ever since you started dreaming about
somebody else
I've been coughing up ashes

daylight never reveals
the truth of things
wait till night
and cordite flaring
of a match's strike
then reach into the shadow

herman harding showed me his truck today
in the muggy high school parking lot
in the sweltering sun
that could easily set my still temperament ablaze.
"she calls it the **** wagon."
he told me.
"she calls mine the firestarter."
i told him; he gave me a look.
"surprised?" i asked.

"so what do you think?"

"it's a battered wife."

"what the hell does that mean?"

"all bruised and broken down,
probably only runs because
you give it gas."

"it's a hand-me-down, okay?
so am i giving you a ride home,
or what?"

i crawled in the **** wagon.
"i should be getting my license soon."

"that's nice."
herman seemed uneasy.

"yep, i'll be driving by next school year."

"that's nice."

the truck had green seats
and a yellow dashboard.
obviously replaced.

approaching the highway,
i opened the glove compartment-
insurance information.
"you're telling me you bought insurance
for this *******?"

"why should you care?"

"i'm just wondering,
seems like a waste of money."

almost home,
i flip down the sun visor-
down flutter a couple of pictures of her
that shouldn't have been taken.
i flip the sun visor back up,
take a look at the photos,
and deposit them in the glovebox.
"tell me, herman:
do you like getting hand-me-downs?"

"get out of the truck."

Searching space and time.
Sparks igniting dry tinder.
To forge new future.