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.