First, Beginning With Fire


First beginning with fire
lifted from the still ruins
of some lightning strike, the ash
lot of a forest struck down

by the unborn Gods, stolen,
passing singed hand to singed hand
along the now visible
night path to science, to here,

where we make our way along
yellow glowing roads, along
thin strips of highway
with blinking and comatosed

and halogen eyes, where we,
with our vacuum of reason,
have captured the light, forced it
to face forward, and to march,

though it sways around corners
and peaks over hills and blinds
us in the flat glass mirror
we use to reflect behind.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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