head lolling
hands bloody
napalm-colored eyes
too wide, she falters
face in the mud: and hands
will pick her up, boots
from underneath
will kick her skyward;
in she breathes
she breathes in pieces of lead
and bursts in airless conflagration;
her heart will burn the forest
and her hands if you touch them
will break you slowly in half
she won’t beg you
but understand it’s just a habit
born of life lived as an explosion
making soot from fire
never angry enough
