213/365

the mind is a spool of firecrackers. tonight,
the burgundy paper wrapper like a monk’s
robe, burning up before each explosion.

why didn’t he learn basic led zeppelin riffs
as a young man? do we consume media or allow
ourselves to be consumed by the barrage of stories?
as a child the furniture in his house was made of hardware
store wood and cinderblocks, a stained-glass window,
the table they painted canary yellow and a room full of finches.

anticipation is what we build up and impregnate with value.
the first day of school. football season. the eventual first gig.
maybe that’s why people spend a life time constructing
a heaven that will live up to their expectations.

each proleptic day
passing. passing.
passed. past.

the mind was a spool of firecrackers. tonight,
the only things left:
the smudge on the concrete,
a quenched wick,
the whiff of gunpowder
and a ringing in your ears.