NaPoWriMo 2

on tension

address me in the bitter days of corn
and hold the lantern for me while I sleep
returning to the room where I was born
to vinyl walls and cans of yellow fruit

there is music pending raucous in the street
and fire spreads like rain from roof to roof
the runners can’t avoid the crimson beat
of thirty thousand rolling steel drums

so shall we leave our mission incomplete
between the burning sky and angry earth
or will the music’s fecund turn repeat
and offer one last heart the pain of birth



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