Spontaneous Combustion

As if I were made

Of cotton fiber flesh

And blood like kerosene,

With Sulfuric skin cells

And phosphorous fingertips

I might explode at any moment.

Comfortably combustible,

I’m a calm collected casualty,

A meandering mishap

With tragic topography.

Friction finds me frequently

And I detonate on cue

Reduced to ashes in a flash

Only to be born anew.

Recurring like a sunset &

Still frighteningly flammable

Looking for a friction fix

To be again intangible.

I’d fight a phoenix for its flame

Then steal its symbolism

And wear it on my chest to

Cauterize my cynicism &

Rise up like the dawn

Freshly bright in bloom

Eternally ascending to

The advent of afternoon