Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes my mind
is on fire, my thoughts
bellow whether leaves
of paper, of trees, and
it’s best (maybe better)
when things burn but
it’s the heat I hate

words between lines form
bodies behind bars–may
this book be a prison then
may it burn with the rest of
them and may its ashes rub
like turpentine and

may I start over

Advertisements