dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: matches

interrogate
and open doors
but when you’ve finished
slide them softly
back in their frames

like you would
a bed of matches
resting, waiting
for darkness in
their box with words

a boundary
like a cliff
with only hovering birds
and the crumbling rock edge
to break strength
and silence.


Every revolution of the sun
Is marked
In its core
By the click of a
Seatbelt buckle 
Whose metal heat has blistered
The thumbs of a thousand.
Stovetops with an equal status
Are struck with matches
Until the sound of a bb bullet
In old green bean can
Echoes and spins and escapes,
Curling each ray
On its way back to earth.