fire-starter cataclysm

it's the calm before the storm,
the chronic tick-tock of a
broken clock, the howl of a mid-
night monsoon and autumn's
middle finger spelling a silent
f-f-uck

because winter killed november
with a pepperbox revolver,
playing the sound-
track of my fire-starter heart

shadows eventually lose their
grip from trying to capture
the sky's lilac-white innocence
inside baby coca cola bottles

and even a hundred moths
die while struggling
to chase the fish-
bone sun

you're merely a
cataclysm away from my
keychain heart

since love is just
another way to
burn

.
.
.