Gas Can and Match

There are some flowers

Born to give pause.

Their scent

A nepenthe

Aimed at attraction.


There are some fires

Once ignited

Which aim to consume the world. 

They are started by lightning

Or a smell, a touch or a kiss.


There are wayward rocks,

Hiding in the shallows, waiting to wreck a ship.

They hide there

Barely touching the surface.


They are waiting for you to sail into them

Because they are waiting for meaning.

They can smell your approach

And the moment you drift over the horizon

The living skin of the organisms encrusting their basalt

Will tingle at your approach.


There are some books

Waiting to be read.

By you.

They hold the secrets you desire to be answered.

The words are there for all of time.

Your time.


And those moments you spend thinking of matches

The one you will someday ignite

Will be used to burn the book. 

There is something delightful in watching

A book burn into ashes. 

Then, the smoke and the words can be inside of you.

And you will reek of gasoline and flowers


And whiskey

And fear

And hope

And love.