There It Goes.

Gravel, grit, sand
stacked like reams of

obscene magazines that
yellow when looked at

as the water is flung
down the sandy pit

I see my little canoe
go too

A list of everything that's ever been on fire

All trees have been
or will be on fire.
The wind is on fire
in a blizzard, 30 below.

When my head is on fire
burning grass dissuades it
and fire creeps down
to my throat lungs heart

and fire (finally) is in my blood, my mind.
Fire in South America,
Brazil is burning,
and the gasoline and

blood is on our hands.
Both are on fire.
Tires have always been
on fire, they will continue to burn.

Oil is on fire as it
rockets from a well.
100,000 Iraqis dead,
traded for a plume

and a tar-black flame.
The burning building hammers
down upon our helmets
as we struggle to haul barrels out.

So much for
an exit plan.

seaward glance

Sun and tide lapped the beach as one,
my borrowed sandals fit.
Chips of shell or bottle or bone
ordained the sand around me.
Free angles carry frames in shops
by way of light to my eye.
A seaward glance I chance and meet
a fey and dying boat.
Struck and stoned, I could not move,
its sinking I see still.

I never carry a camera,
my eyes are lens,
the image drawn in
is beholden to itself,
redemptive in the execution
of my memory.