Poem Scalds

When a tire carries the street
Dotted lines stride from
Space to togetherness

I think and therefore
I wish to be who I am
And I have an imagination

That says: I am thus
Who must require
A blunderbuss

Frailty folds its gold 
And coldness strikes
The matchstick roll

I can tell that my clouds
Are filled with ice crystals 
And I am a partial memory

Of a liquid’s gas
Bouncing off the walls 
That don’t quite exist

Arterial baldness filters glass
While poem scalds
Kick my ass

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