Conflagration

I woke with a polished heel
at my eye,
grinding, grinding—

Rage brings me to my feet.
I blast the great nothingness
and rant to thin air.

These invisible webs
have kept me from seeing
a rock as rock, a tree as tree.
Sky as beautiful sky:
unwritten, free—

If I could borrow a star’s force
I would whip it
against the enemy
who tears us apart.

This is what they want:
For the poets to die off.
For imagination
to sour on the vine.

The raving wasps set their
tongues into rotting fruit.

How can I divine
with all this in my heart?

How can I will the oceans to roil
and the mountains shiver, too,
in communal song?

I want a collapse
of this petrified reality.

Give me two words, only two,
and watch
as I make a conflagration of this world.

 

 

©2016 Clare L. Martin

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