Complacency

This fire in me
seems a conflagration.
Fat sparks surely sizzle out from me
like comets singeing the night air.
In my wake the earth
must bubble and grieve,
its bones creaking with age,
leaking hot rage.

The air must be burning
out a staccato rhythm around me.
These houses I pass must
sway to the beat hypnotically.

These people flowing past me
seem like dry tinder.
I hear the crackle and
Pop of their ignition:
see them burst with flame
like expired secrets,
their lies hissing out
in a sudden rush of heat.

Added @ 02:11 PM to Poetry category on March 18, 1997