the fire blossoms fight on

whispering winds
whipping winds
cutting near silently through clothing
identical.

The sun is on fire and is spreading
to the flowers in the garden.
so green, yet so red and orange and hot

it just hasn't hurt enough yet i suppose
so i dig my hands in deep,
turning the soil


these steps lead to nowhere but the empty garden
the glass rock and sheet rock lay in piles not ten feet out
and the fire blossoms fight on.

everywhere i've been is identical.

waiting for the night to slip in
quick as flies, swarming like bees
all around like a shallow grave.

my friends call like church bells ring
i can count on them for that
but they call for everyone
they expect to be heard but never hear a response
customs outweigh reason.

I go remembered and then forgotten
how i was but not who i am.