Having lit the match,
Wind crawls up my fast wick back.
Liquid butter burns.


2 Responses to “Self-Immolation”

  1. eduardo says:

    love how, fast wick back, rolls from the tongue. also love its imagery.

    • wordweed says:

      This poem was born of some words a new friend said recently on a windy day: “the wind crawls up your back if you let it.” And somehow, in thinking about it, my back became a wick, and then there was fire, and then the burning up.

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