It Will Burn

The friction between two passing hints is all it takes to make an unnatural fire, and I have power to kindle it at the time of my choosing. Each flame can be directed to consume ashen place holders. Suppress as many dreams your prescription bottle will allow. The burning is not there. Step upon the glowing embers to make a point. Friends will breath a sigh of relief and the mothers of young children will commend you. Yet the burning is not there either. Is it in your lesser imagination that is walled off to communal concern that the burning resides. I weave in and out of that destructive place. From mere cinders am I able to raise up a blaze the twin of any great oak. And this before a photo can be snapped to tell your convenient lie. Certain bonds are not meant to be formed. Who would figure you as a person sympathetic to my aim. Yet the burning is not a product of our customs. Is it? You have prepared yourself against the day of my arson. Buckets of water sit at your ready. They will do opposite of your stated hope. Why do you prevent the hounds from satisfying their thirst? Surly a few dogs will not deplete rows of still water. My spies have reported that you topped each one off with translucent cooking oil. You know that the burning is not had without conspiracy. Everything around us will burn and we will warm ourselves in the inferno of disappointed life planners. You are no accomplice. It was only a thought; a silly fantasy. Then explain away your racing heart and windows that flicker with orange light.