I knew it wouldn't end in fire;
We burned
Too fast, too enjoyably, to suffocate
In flames.

I found the scab, the source,
Small and round and secret.
Incapable of leaving it to heal, I finger the edges
Nervously until the blood flows
Cold and jealous and foreign and unforgiving and slow.

A tipping point we can't reverse out of,
We're frozen on the event horizon,
Empty like the air in February,
The oxygen burned out from our explosion.

I am only left with regret and this
Sense, clear and dry and freezing, that I've walked
Too far north and lost the sun,
Though clouds still part in the distance and wave
Toward the open spaces
With fingers unfurling in unnatural curls.

I claw back to calm from
Calamity and speak, knowing I have listened
Too deeply to words meant for other ears - words that do not tell
Me what to say in return - I am raw.

I stand at the edge of mercy,
Abrupt in my humanity,
Suddenly losing feeling in my toes.

the white race, paunched,
couched in lazy righteousness
steeped in knee-**** fright of us--
terrified by the sight of
our history of shamefulness
in every passing headline
and obit crossing the line
that makes the deadline,
day by deadly day
due to the arrogance of men
who refuse to even listen
to the obvious injustice
pouring since i don't know when--

our nation's deepest wound
forever reopened to bleed again
and again
and again
and again

With tenacious tread I seek the dawn
Like urban trees drink deep
Of lake water and clear skies, I plant my feet
Only to stumble through
The arid wasteland of my wound.

I walk off the pain
Though each step draws the flames higher
Each breath becomes an act of will
My own heel my pyre.

I set my eye, with rigid strides
Press toward the gold horizon line.
Maybe a fool: I am my own fuel
As forward motion consumes, I'm vaporized
And my sparks skyward fly.

Ashes
To ashes, dust
To dust.

Each searing step I take alone
Then in the coals see marks
Of other feet, upward look and meet
Eyes ember bright, fearless
Fingers tracing filaments against the night.

Fire walkers give off the light
By which we find a way
A note or rhyme, a guiding flame
As forward motion consumes, refines
And our sparks skyward fly.

Ashes
To ashes, dust
To dust
To gold.

Begone from my mind
Out of my thoughts
How far do you stretch
how tight are these knots

I kept you tucked away
Vault shut, locked
but still memories permeate
Like blood sodden shirt
Spot splotch

I’ve abandoned
Now do the same
Do me one favor
Extinguish this flame

If memories must persist
Cast these feeling to naught
Drain the last drip
Let this open wound clot

I’ve said it too many times
This fight has been fought
I embossed the shape of you
Now begone, get lost.

I wish, I wish, I
Wish.
But it’s dumb. I should stop.
Maybe once more, for you.

Everytime something happy happens,
I find myself worrying about
What might happen next.

For example, twas an early day,
Writing ******* poetry with words like "Twas" "Was" "is" or "as"
Things seemed to be deemed good
For at least a week or two.

Low and behold,
The wound.
The inevitable part of life that Happens when everything
Is goin' good.

So twas' the night before the wound,
A jaded child lay
Unaware of the doom.