Run to the water and
the ashes and flares,
the sparks and the cries
and take shelter there.
If you're hoping I cool
or find my way back,
those woods claimed me
and now I'm upset.
My single gun flare
up to the sky caught
no one's attention,
and I don't know why.
So I found a good spot,
and with my last shot,
struck dry tinder.
Boom. Crackle. bam.
Now they will find me;
it won't be hard.
When everything and
everyone you have ever loved
runs for their life,
I walk towards mine.
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.
