underneath a burning why
and searing, aching blue-like sky
to shallow depths we cast the die
with the sound of a match gently stricken
by the river mouth, a squandered chance
by the river mouth we shall not dance
on tiptoe over scorching sand
why ever would the heat abate
what little passion left irate
at mere behest it cannot sate
convulsing empty, lost and charred
last embers of a wistful heart
for death spells a belated card
with the sound of a match gently stricken
by the river mouth washed ashore
by the river mouth, nevermore
on tiptoe over scorching sand
with the sound of a match gently stricken
by the river mouth, all shades of keen
behold the ocean - sweet, sweet gasoline
wake up and smell the ashes
(2023)
