Watch the city burn.
This is what youth looks like–
black tendrils of smoke reaching toward the sky
like desperate, yearning fingers. There’s a prize up there
in the heat of the sun, and in the heat of the flames
below. We bathe in that heat like
I admit, this is an older poem that I decided to throw onto the blog because I have some personal stuff going on and almost forgot that it was the first Wednesday of July today. (The tornado sirens going off while I was at work should’ve reminded me.) Anyway, this is my quick fix to not break my new schedule the day it started. Don’t judge me too harshly.