…as my room burned, I could go on. Edit 1 for serge.

[R.C. KITCHENS]

Wired to tailgates, flashed in cheers
of honeyed circumstance,
we paddle
in our skinned canoes. Fire! Fire!
Greased by creosote burning black
like a waxed and oiled up scrub-land pharaoh,
you were liquidised.
I left.

Tracking rotors beat and cut the cute puffed airs
and graces; kings could curtsy in the grain of wood
you polished.
Buffered thoughts shine bare. Fire! Fire!
Counterweighted bones with blades
still stuck in cleft and crevice where you hid from me.
You were pulverised.
I laughed.

Come and strip this bandage from the crispened flakes
of what the faith once was; close to shanks of shame held
tightly closed whilst
Berenice was left to Poe instead. Fire! Fire!
Shout this out to your familiars, "Lift the breasts of nippled arms
and count out one, two, three!"
You were traumatised.
I loved.

Where now?
You lose.
You lose again.

Tectak
2013

I like most of it although, I feel like im out of the loop in the piece as a whole. maybe further explanation is needed about the fire and about the nippled arms. It seems like an element of discord with the fire and people.
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