• then maybe God would give us a new cig...

    I thought the world was a bonfire;
    some burning hole full of flames
    that stayed lit with matchstick souls.

    It was the kind of nuclei born to lead
    another wave of a hand
    across blue centers and land
    scorched with disease.

    That ashy soil would never grow
    plants for St. Augustine's grave.
    No wave of relief could put
    out the fire of his deserts,
    or douse a tongued tree.

    When Moses heard voices
    hailing from those divine branches,
    maybe he thought for one blazing second
    that it was just the wind waving their hands,
    or maybe he smoldered and cringed;
    just like my blunt on some friend's porch.