maladaptations

i set myself on fire atop pottery shards
an incongruent sight on the public square
what corner have you backed into, huh
i abraded my burns with salt before the machine
steamrolled me into the macadam
im afraid i made up my mind

fatalism

is best shaken then stirred
when i burn people listen
disregard the penalty kick
this ship is listing in dire straits
the mother verandah crumbles
we are all low hanging fruit
and the petrol’s tangy mouthfeel
electrifies my soul
these fanciful superimpositions
please use my useful molecules
after invoking eminent domain

What I’m Reading:

There is a moonshaped rictus in the streetlamp’s globe where a stone has gone and from this aperture there drifts down through the constant helix of aspiring insects a faint and steady rain of the same forms burnt and lifeless.

— Cormac McCarthy / Suttree