Pt 1
Far out, they cried
when I stood on cinders,
feet combusting,
like it was clever;
even though water
sprinkled the joint,
coals sizzled,
flesh melted, spat;
chunks of sinew,
popped like corn.
Timbers smoked,
glowed like hell;
arms blackened, curled
crossed over chests.
I’m burning, I told
the voices,
need a little help;
far out, far out, they said,
the ghosts of those
burned on the bed,
those who were dead
surely could...
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