You look at me, and I think
you know that I know.
It's one of those magnetic
stares that if I look too long,
I'll unravel. And if I look away
too soon, you'll press me for
either your projected shame, or
my own imagined guilt.
I think that's why I work so hard
to keep things tidy and clean, so
that when these moments happen,
as they are bound to, I can clearly
see what is mine from everyone
and everything else.
Perhaps we could instead dance in
the shadows, and not be fated to
some ominous destiny filled with
tragedy and grieving hands and misery.
YOU ARE READING
THE ARSONIST
Poetry"You set my world on fire, but at what cost?" In THE ARSONIST, this prose-poetry chapbook explores third degree burns, stone faced lovers, and learning to love the blackened trees. New poems released every Thursday at 9PM MST/11PM EST.
