Firework Scars
I stepped by
the waterfall,
memories restless, awakened
from induced night slumber,
drugged with bottle contents
until the pain of tears vanished
Until the misery
of wrought hands,
twisted iron becomes but another
breath catching exercise, a cleared
throat from pasts immemorial to
Walk beside in
space and time
to final resting. A blackout
after wounded crackle of static
on the airwave, a signal taken
too little from words
We passed as
codes in dark
corners, back and forth through
wire fence.
A look at the
roadkill, the tar
paper pine, the burn rubber leavings
of last year’s party favour revolution
Tells of
nothing, save regretted
rancor: the lonely scribe dying
with his head firmly perched
To righteous
side he’d never take
in fear of too much certainty.
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