detonate and bloom

i have lived at least three lives.
one: groundwork
two: explosive theory and practice
three: the art of eruption and collapse
those mishaps.
those misunderstandings.
those things that entered my skin
closing all exists, have now dismantled.

all the mistakes–
the limbs lost in mine fields–
all the powerlessness that sank inside
this chest laden with fireworks—exploded.

and then was doused.

the dynamite, unsettled,
is now transformed electricity,
which I control, choose,
and illuminate with.
there are no fuses.
there is no gun powder.
this new pilgrimage
is calm
is life-giving
is existence
with an undercurrent
of perfect voltage.
a beautiful spark buzzing
in an arc over my salty skin.


Categories: Poetry

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