it isn't always the thing
one goes on about that feeds
the frenzy
so often, there's fire beneath
the door, opening alarms

and sometimes when you're
talking, tilling the soil
about a song
or naming a name or
dialing a number, raving
wild-eyed and glowing
you're really just the song
of loves and smiles
pulling heat
out from some
other, kinder place
where your thoughts
are on some sweet
young thing and the flames
from the window sill
the power in your breath
is descended from there

the subject
at hand
is only incidental.

2008-03-03 | 10:29 a.m.
0 comments so far