This is the last chance to escape; there’s no going back after tonight.
When the fireflies dim, the half life of light begins to buzz on your beehive of nerves.
When the darkness has turned, no more moonlighting words will bring them back.
The lows of your laugh and the highs of rock bottom, adrenaline shots of dying at the optimum time, only to survive regardless.
It’s a pardon never sought, putting life in a box and calling it spared. But once you learn to covet sunrise, serendiptious insects are guilty of a lightbulb’s lie;
gifts awareness to the naked eye but still artifical, and the iris complies.
And the breeze is a bribe, relief from infernos,
mid-August prose broken into spring poems,
shattering heat records on my breath.
Might be appropriate to venture outside, I have a lifetime of candlelight to contest.