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de Jason Collett

Dance, locust, dance.
The prophets shrug their shoulders as
calamity's child lost her head
in the bell of the trumpet's blast.

I know you just want to be on fire.

Jam, radio, jam.
Power to the pirate stations,
broadcasting up through the flowery cracks in the pavement.

I know you just want to be on fire.

The good morning comes like a hit and run
with a marmalade sun for everyone.

I know you just want to be on fire.

Staring at the sun will only make you blind,
but a fiery glimpse is all you need sometimes.

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