Monday, May 7, 2012

Setting fires

The Art Of Burning Bridges

Rain like unwound gauze spun from the sterns
of hulking grey factory ships arrayed
overhead, wallowing in the chop,
decks awash, scuppers bleeding foam

the perfect day for a walkabout
that will take me counterclockwise to
the high banks of all those swollen rivers
tumbling headlong to the sea beneath

every bridge I ever left standing,
slick vantages canted and precarious
but worth the risk for the promise of
pristine views of disused spans long

abandoned, poised in the murk, waiting
for trains of the type painted by Turner;
sooty dragons emerging from dense
soupy backgrounds belching smoke and trailing

glowing cinders that lodge in the maze of
sheltered cross beams where they smolder and
beckon me up to cup them in my hands
and gently coax the licking consuming flames.

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