old fashion

every night i vow
to feed myself an old fashion
and cobble together
a fire of words

to keep me warm
in the morning
when the chill
of the news
is unbearable,

only
to be
too exhausted
to execute.

at least tonight
there was
this tiny spark.

it doesn’t
offer much
warmth,

but the tiniest
light is a sun
when all there is,
is darkness.