Cargo for Kindling

Suns in their winter hearse
course through the universe;
heaven in a rhythm, vibrating,
heaving, breathing in heathens
heating them on this evening.

I see them, seeding: bleeding
into holes tombs of tirades,
demeaning this world its whole
worth; believers weeping at each
word, eating up what they’re speaking.

In the mistrust of a minute, naked
urgency interrupts darkness;
all of it looks alive, harnessing ripped
erasures, lightning lies undressed
addressing the sky, all falling within it.

Someone wearing interest hears
my worst and swallows, allows
my hurt shallow reprieve, keeps
tickling my bomb until I explode;
the one I told all, each secret his.

He holds court, certain I’ll put
investments of confidence in,
his hands like boxes of ears,
packing my palms with cotton;
softest touch assaulting my reason.

I see them, myself and my season:
burning in a tumble, leaving foil
sparking, darkness deceiving, spoiling
splinters of martyrs into speech
even kings dare not spill on such people.

Through the sweating mirror I see them;
myself and my season, each man
teasing another without even
asking if he’s troubling husbands,
fathering infidelity evil enough, indecent.

Come one day next fall, we’ll all spring
into sanction, picking sides, asking
if inaction buys out what was packed in;
if denial dries tears as well as fire
rids disease; as well as water wears paper thin?

’Til then, here we now stand, my flame him
licking me into submission; bare-breathed,
winded, rejecting my rejections, wrestling with
circumstance, treasoning worse my better
judgement, assassinating each other blind.

My first of flames, unearthed
from claims of loneliness, climates
otherwise undefined; smouldering
in the unworthiness of pride, places
his presence, branding my mind.