Poems

August Kindling

Though nothing concerns me
Too much,
Everything stays on my mind.

Thoughts
That would look like the shooting star
Flit their stream behind my eyes.
Like autumnal nights,
I enjoy that show—

But what choice?
—They’re simply there,
Speaking to me
In a language like fire:

The mind
Is relentless,
Until it is not.
Until it burns you out.

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