poets setting fire for light By Keith Pearson

poets have been known to confuse

the geography of their redemption

to sleeping in peace with a burning cigarette

under their pillow or talk

with the gun still jerking at their lips

a mouth greasy with oil and fear

as they kiss you

heart sooted with smoke and laughter.

poets do not tell lies

but have been known to put

their mouth to the fire to find hope

curse from dreams through seared flesh

paint scar tissue in shades of pink and black

or sometimes dress alone in

the colors of stars from

a blind moon night.

poets will tear pages straight from the tree

climb to a wavering peak to read

the underside of a golden leaf

or circle beneath a falling word

on the odd chance it may save the world

drop their torch in the wizened leaves

to better mark their path

and stare in wonder as their world burns clean.

poets do not stare down

from the optic nerve of their heart

but speak aloud with fingers of woven rope

praying their words have the strength of vines

something to carry the world along and through

green and searching and holding fast

even as they flail without mercy

at the burning thing that lets them breathe.

for scott ferry

keith pearson was born and raised in new hampshire and works at a local high school in the math department.