totality of listless guestdom.
November 28, 2010 § 2 Comments
reading audre lorde makes the construction of memory seem really easy to chop and burn.
keep warm and let loose. images strung together in heat only.
Spectators root for their most aggressively burning log:
go to another house and they build a fire differently:
shove the wood (heel of hand),
no kindling: just add to the murmur. wood stove.
owners need the heat to spread
not like flames
hungry for air.
combustion with proven physics and
this is not the fire at the campsite in the summer. the one you gathered kindling for. Nor is this the excellence of dampened wood that has learned to burn, a soft lure that makes one lean into its flames in one’s bathing suit that would be slept in. When all died down and thin blankets trapped the damp; the long arm of the cape would be sweeping the sauna into red-glazed eyes.
smoke was gasped in to little lungs and not the faintest idea of consequence flickered.
this fire is contained:
its soft vacuum is necessary, but reduced to the smell and thick of poppy fields and
it is a hand on a sleeping shoulder:
i am asleep: i am not frozen
the sneeze bursts inside the soot-pipes. cracking and hissing
pops into the glass barrel chest.
visions appear when the glow is low:
dreams of men who have aged,
who are now residents of this batch of collapsed apple wood.
two men in their thirties who are competing:
one will grow old and the other will be trapped in
youngface and old steel eyelids.
one sings brightly like a nervous bride
and the other is the heavy crow who has
lost its caw-box.
waking to cold is sullen and lit only by
a window who no one has thought to curtain.
the bitter tasting metals have sunk to the floor
and feet crammed in wool are thankful
footing is found and the fire is smirked and
grimaced into the fading trot of mares
and the heart grievance relief of hours 3-7.
all fires are shocked when still:
all morning are illuminated by something else.