As a youngster, I started fires on
the edge of town. Random, uncontrolled
and merciless.
I was so stupid. As an adult
my fires became much smaller,
focused.
They burned silently and quickly
at the base of my friends’ houses,
quietly licking at foundations.
I became, I felt, the self-realized
man, an artist at connivance,
the modern prestidigitator
humming in the afternoons as I planted
bulbs along my driveway fence.
