A History of Bridge Burning

When burning bridges
comes across
as normal, I’ll dress
these words up just
a bit
more formal.

Until the day
they can don that
suit and tie over
kamikaze
tie-dye,

all my
syllables
survive
on the mercy
of misguided
morals.

So strike a match, and
in cardiovascular fashion, let your fires
burn in circles. Leave all outcomes indiscernible from
their predecessors, spare nothing
from the ashes.

This is what
my journal would look
like as
a forest in
flames, cleansing pain
before autumns rains come
along to

soothe raging
yellow jackets.

While the spaces between trees
have blackened,
my passions are
renewed, my stingers are
barbed and
ready to
bruise.

And while the world
watches, passive,

I’m ready to fight
fires I once
set to believe in
something
other than
a ruse.

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