i like campfires that breath real slow and mellow,
never flame too high or low,
never smother or avalanche,
just fire night and day.
even their ashes are independent,
vanishing in one easy wind gust,
dancing their own naked dance.
Tags: campfires, fire, independent, our own dance, poem
I like them when I think I can see the devil’s head in them.
Catholic rhetoric of devils, damned, and hell fire. Who needs the imagination. It gets bad enough with stubbed toes and arrogant pricks for bosses.
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