20060903
01:26
Before
we watched an orange flare,
a phoenix spreading wings and
vaulting upward into a pool of
distantly separated lamps.
Then,
wings locked straight (and a bit back)
eyes locked straight forward,
watching your target,
an egg you hope to lasso.
After
your rope is secure,
the line tangling,
pulling you in slow circles,
you look like a vulture.
Then,
ignoring the winding string,
you hold tight;
your eyes stay open,
we use them for our own.
Now
smarter trees have closed on you,
branches and leaves forming a wall.
Your path spirals closer till you land,
wings closing and
feathers dissolving
in another flare:
orange yellow red
(blood and heat).
0 something something somethings
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