06 August 2009


Your arid words drop off
A dry tongue and crackle down
To the earth. They land
Beside, atop, among one another.
Piling up.
Your hot desiccant breath
Scorches the air,
Sparks oxygen in the atmosphere.
Dangerous tinder.
Scraps of speech
Lie below in want of combustion.
In the desert heat of everything you said,
Flashpoint is near.
One more burned noun,
One more overheated adjective
Is all it takes
To ignite.

This photo is from my sisters blog. The poem is a little darker than anything I've put on my blog before. But, you know, flames are hot. Comments, suggestions, etc. are, of course, welcome.