Everyone who loves me loves me

because I’m insane.

 

I ignited, but,

Mother, what was the word before

 

we had that one, before we landed

on ignited? I loosed myself into the world.

 

It was a grand mistake

and it felt good, in the nature of most

 

irreversible decisions. Imagine the pasture

as you are rarely asked to imagine the pasture,

 

ablaze and screaming and thrashing

in the gentlest breeze.

 

This practice absent

of romanticism. This hard

 

orange light and the sweat

of the brow. Life comes,

 

this writhing and loss.

The earth scorched, the house

 

deleted. And me

on the naked edge of the picture,

 

asking where

I should set my luggage down.