A Bout, Again

In returning flame falls,
Drifting tiny fire droplets
Pirouette to the left
Then re-turn again in
The opposing direction.

Predictabilities that fire catchers earned
From the pursuit of the said
Drops in multiplicities of heated urns
That ceased to exist when
These haunting occurrences desisted



Incorrigible attitudes at the hardly understood
Indignantly cry at prevaricated answers.

Innocuous battle cries at wizards that would conjure
Instantiated wonders; spell bound, struck down

Into the death throes of future’s past; present.
Alligated from fervent fervors, acquired

Ethereal fires; fanning bluish flames
Of whited emissions,
Entire fields filled with flighty familiars

Omitting their own
At reductive reasonings
Of combative souls
In rustic chains
Of calculative


Icy iris’ drawn
In ball pointed pens
In the blues of knowing.
Azure spite filled eyes
Filed in failed attempts
Of how my feet barely
Lifted off the unkempt,
Of how I kept rolling in
This same narrow lament.

Accusations that freeze and burn
When what I wanted was
To be free to run.
These watchful eyes, they burden
And forcefully surge; I swell. Feebly feeling
My make-believe golden wings warping,
Bending from the slightest bit of pressure
As they tell me how I had promised
Those naive fickle numbers.

I know what I said.

But while these eyes,
They bite and blister,
I know that I need them.

I’d stop