Wednesday, December 22, 2021


Already, I see it's getting late.
Soon, I must head out 
to rake and gather

all that I've done 
and failed to do 

and, without separating 
one from the other, 

to set fire to the bunch—
hear the words pop,
watch the deeds crackle.

For only then can I resume
my odd processes

of writing notes to myself 
and making friends 
idle promises 

in the purified, ashen, desolate space 
which another December's
conflagration opens up.