Sunday, March 15, 2009

Big Rewrite

At the Museum of Fire

you stretch arms made of styrofoam
and snow around me

you offer to take my pain away,
quick as a methadone-flavored gumdrop

you whisper into my neck, Don't
worry, nothing's really on fire

as I touch the painted flames along your
knees, I wonder if the guard can hear us

No comments: