Fire Bomb
It's not the ululations of this
swollen pumping mess
that concern me anymore,
nor the uncertainty of a spark
nor dream's banality
but this warm blood coddling me
again
crashing through tissue flaps --
these sanguine apertures
oxygen again flowing,
ebbing toward an inner shore
where once there stood a you
i'm alien, no longer frozen,
burning through a helluva memento
and i don't even own a microwave anymore.
[ jh ]
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