Fists in the Fire two fists in the fire water in the black desert of my mind elements conspire against space and time few words on a wire plenty in the bank of blank memory taxed from a liar printing currency men lack—all buy their way but can’t go back words crossing the line loom spinning entire truths from threadbare lies recovered minors detail all of that groping portion blind fathers whose higher powers fled them tried in their wide empire to conquest and sack leaving each behind ablaze—each mined for words more than unkind two fists in the fire longer than a pact bled out of my bind we enfants perspire terrible paradigms Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related November 5, 2014 Categories: Poetry