Controlled Burn
The epics, like old, dead forests,
must be trimmed, if not slashed and burnt.
The old growth suffocating the soils
of the mind must be uprooted
and a new music grafted on.
Write the music down that haunts you.
Burn this crop of notes as you would
a field until it is a field
of white. It needs replanting and
replenishment. The roots of words
are twisted, tangled and undone.
Write the music down that haunts you.
Slash and burn it. You will make it
through the first fires. It may take you
years to hear the subtle rhythms
of your fluttering, head-strong heart
quietly keeping you alive.
Write the music down that haunts you.
Slash and burn it. You will make it
better through time. It may take you
so far into the dark you’ll think
you’re blind, but blind men smell the smoke
long before we ever see the fire.
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