Fort McHenry, that brown dog and me after that moment

pain like bands o rain

spin off a hurricane

and no one is safe

no constabulary can strafe

the stacks of want

the plumes of combust

the friction of indecision

like scouts bowing forth fire

and all happens in ribcage meadows

hosting inside baking aspen

and the heat the hands the eyes the lashes

throughout one’s stumbles

one leaves burns aplenty

one leaves charred hands, hearts

this man loved cat-dancing

and skid her mid-stride

say something nice ... or not

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