The Arsonist
She burns, not
on accident.
Eyes
so green have
yellowed in the middles,
a ringed dartboard
but she’s the one
throwing.
She is
everything and takes
everyone
like Whitman except
she can’t stand poetry.
She’s lost
her virginity more times
than she can count but first
to a woman in a bar at sixteen.
Call her slut to see
her smile. She’s
flexible. She’s
the muse’s
naughty
older sister, muscles tense
with wait.
She poured the
gasoline,
struck
a match.
Potential becomes kinetic.
She dances, up
in flames.
First: I really love your line break decisions-- it puts really fantastic emphasis in all the right places. This one actually gets better as it goes-- the first five lines or so sound like you couldn't quite find the right word in one or two spots-- but overall, it's really striking. I especially love the piece about "potential to kinetic." Well done!
ReplyDelete