The waste of waste
a fingerfull of light
spells home
candlelight burns on my children’s souls
and yet they burn new paths
wasting a fingerfull of light
burrowing into darkness
blinking in new light
with sticky eyes
wasting
carelessly
unforgiving power
briefly owned
what howls
will burst
across dry river beds
before my children
unstick their eyes and
dare to live
The waste of waste
Is too tiresome
For me to see again
when I die
I will be put into a plastic bag
and there
‘rot’ ingloriously
Sweating my death...
Hoping for a pragmatic quickening
No thicker than a candle wick
Waiting for a match
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