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Desiccated Fireworks Poem

September 28, 2011

Hello! This is a poem I wrote a long while ago.  The feelings in it kind of grew into the Word-Eating Monster Poems.  In Fireworks, there’s an allusion to Moran and Moriarty, characters from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series.  For those who don’t know who they are, Moriarty is Holmes’s arch-nemsis and polar opposite: a highly intelligent criminal mastermind with his own very extensive network.  To complete the mirror, Moran is Moriarty’s Watson i.e. Moran looks out for Moriarty, has outstanding loyalty to him, and does more of the physical aspects of criminal work like shooting people.  Like Watson, Moran has a military history.  Also, “tender is the night” alludes to the work of the same name by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Onwards!

Desiccated Fireworks

 

We were like Moran and Moriarty, those dry too-hot nights

the fires illuminate

our shades of shadow

scrolled skin, scorched soul

[hacked red spatters sheets]

Go ahead: rail against rank

place bombs behind backs

Hoping

to push away

 

It is easier to hold you at arms length than to hold you in my arms

We ensconce to engulf the stars

We eclipse the sun to orb red

We wraith to shadow fire

[our absence lies side by side in bed]

We thought we could eat our darkness

or the darkness would eat us

a disfigured snack

 

Yet now we are too alive

the enclosed coursing up:

contorted ignite the imprecise,

unconnected connect,

strange deranged,

vaporize

underneath our placid daytime haunts

[the frail streetlight only covers the ever-present dark]

Let me be nothing’s

nothing

 

My singular void only wishes to be absent

its non-face lit by explosion

[how did I get here?]

Let me wander, a ghost of inferno slumber

 

 

Tender is the night

Now I sit in the room and try not to be pragmatic

let the consumption

overtake us

[the clock’s digits tremble]

But this heat

is too sticky, too sweaty

too loose, too fragile

It blows our paper selves to the wind

to arc the solid blue

[Let me]

 

Maybe it’s time

spend the rest of sick days

in single candlelight

[it takes too many candles to firework]

Exit the incubus

My head turns to go

Clammy hands pull back, saying

“You’re mine.”

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From → Poetry

2 Comments
  1. “let me wander, a ghost of inferno slumber…”

    Love your words! I’m following!

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