Sometimes we find ourselves encumbered,
sooty with our tribulations,
heavy with our trials,
loomed over by mountains,
and tripped up by molehills;
our hands and knees are grazed and stained,
our faces flecked with dirt…
So burn it all!
Tear off your clothes,
and throw them into fiery pits.
Come roar with me
the hurricane, by comparison.
We’ll blow and torch it from our skin.
We’ll watch it sizzle,
Not a sound but beating hearts.
Not a tree or blade of grass
Just blackened earth, and ashy sheets.
Just glowing coals, where once were eyes.
Just red-hot poles, where once were bones.
and consummates the act.
We let the winds brush off our skins;