A light is lit
On old cobblestone street, the gas
Shushes, I stand there, the amber of,
I am drawn, I am unraveled, loafer heels sucks it’s teeth—
“that’s not real flame,
its only your thoughts, and that feeling
from the glow is bullshit, and don’t be unraveled or
drawn to something that can burn you,
what you should do is replace your fire with hers,
Yours isn’t as important”—alone again, amberish-red
Flame flickers as my heart murmurs an irregular bap,
A strange bip, I climb the body of
the street lamp like an arachnid feverish,
I press my forehead to the hot glass, rolling
side to side.
Charles Snyder 