The place is on fire
the entire place
flames devour holy man
and infidel alike
the young girls
unblemished, lurch
down the street
human torch-light
uncorrupted, screams
buzz saw into smoke
pigeons dissolve into
feathery ash.
I have found the river
and watch from a distance
that mimics surgery
gone wrong. People
run toward me,
begging for just
a little more –
more life, more love
more impossibility.
I side-step and they
splash into the
moving water and
are carried away.
Then I see him.
The ice cream man.
Here he comes,
his flame is white
and he is laughing,
he is crying, his body
bulges, cracks.
There is something
different here,
I think to myself
as I watch him go
in and down with the rest.
Paul Benton