under the mango tree

2004-11-19, 12:25 a.m.

its invisible, the flames are too hot to burn any color. they rip and tear the air apart, a translucent shower curtain steaming with heat, the wood is smoldered and blushing neon orange. i look from a distance now, one match gone in the packet im holding; denny's lists a number and location in classic black and white fashion. its a one observer deal, the designer is gone away somewhere, a cocktail party or a secret rendezvous, its unimportant to the carpenter who is watching his own work prepare its tumbling descent into a rushing river.

please water, carry the blackened planks far from me and where i live. carry them into the next town so i can forget this once connected two shores. waring nations with bomb trucks traversed the divide, ready to destroy the epicenters of emotion with home made napalm, a resinant flame blankets neurons and whatever pain receptors once screamed for water have been whisked away. in the wake of this ordeal is a shadow like human, someone all together different from his former self, eilliot smith would know the stabbing that extricates the humanity from the body.

shelf life diminishes, im carrying new blemishes .

multitudes of puncture wounds in the ground let the worms escape their soil prison, basking in the light; unaware there are birds and heat to dry them up, and make them two, three, finally nothing.