Burnt Out

You dropped the bell.
I starved.
What flame survives
a jar?

Come scratching glass?
How bold!
Your matchless hands
have sold

My fire to space,
vacuum,
Promethean
refuge.

Pandora’s gift
contained,
There’s only fire
to blame.

2013

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Lady Tiresias Finally Speaks

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If You Can’t Chase It, Let It Chase You Home