the fire burning on the horizon,
hidden beneath the green sea
of new-bloom tree tops,
a silent giant exhaling black
soot, spiraling through the air
and growing, a black ash.
suffocating boughs bring
fitful daytime sleep, smokey
dreams through the shade--
I smashed every television
with a dislodged sink basin,
the crude club, unwieldy,
heavy, a burden--
she, unfazed, flicked
on each screen,
my work, ineffectual,
until, through shards
of broken glass,
I ripped out electronic
guts, dismantled each cathode
ray tube until palms
bloomed red and veins
opened like spring storm
clouds, quenching the fire,
the rain of dreamscapes
choking out the flowering
tree of smoke.
No comments:
Post a Comment