Bill Holm's Blog

Fire Trap June 6, 2010

All exits locked.
Spark wires dangle
from missing spaces
over my sudsy tub.
Candle light tips toward
spilled Jack Daniels.
I smell gas.

Let tongues lash,
consume, devour, melt
shellac off family furniture,
creep, seep, spread–
don’t worry,
I can quench every flash.

I dance for drought,
toss bones about,
run skin on coals,
soak my soles,
unstable acetyl accelerant.
Ready. Aim.

Splash.
Sprinklers douse.
Alarms betray.

Negotiators with
rescuers arrive,
clamor, chaos.
Officials huddle,
flip through codes under
volatile mercury glare.
Says it all right there.
’Tis clear. No question.

Paragraph eight.
A pointed finger.

I live in violation.