Changing
I’m standing
at the top
of Onion Pass
soaked in diesel
from when I
popped the hose
at the pump,
driving away
with the nossle
in my tank.
I snap my fingers
like you flick
the spark on
a lighter.
I’m itching,
itching, itching.
I’m 23 and
I’m on fire
even when
the world
is not.
2 thoughts on "Changing"
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Love this – such a powerful image and sensation
This poem “sparks” so much & interesting sensory imagery! I like it and the form—long with short lines—a fuse about to go off!