I set myself on fire again. It was quite a surprise…I’ve not done that in some time. The flames surprised me, showing up to the right and the left of the book held firmly in front of me. I thought at first it was a joke, something from the universe in a laughing poke at time held so light and fragile in the candle light. Red cinnamon it is, two wicks. the scent arriving at a time to mock dreams, to cancel the thoughts that should have surrounded it. The flames blazed up, the sky changed by the appearance, the motorcycle handlebars firm somehow within my hands, gripped as if they would open the doors of belief by being there. Quiet. Just before the panic and stamped out flames, the bargain also a surprise in the convergence of all the stories and all the thoughts and all of the encounters of passion. Death. Life, Silently put out, like the past that cannot be reached. I was there. I am there again. And it burns.


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