There are reeds, pussy willows, that burn. Fire

knows this, feux follets. Blue dull candle haze

out in the swamp. Copse-deep, naked in mire,

sick-stuck glow. A dusk full of purple-grays.

Grays and purples. Twilit from my hips down.

Pure muck. Bum from my hips up: bunglesome.

“Also, leeches… so, fire, leeches, might drown.”

“While nude in a swamp, yes, I know.” “For some

that’s a perk.” For some. Fire burns reeds. I see

them out in the gloam. Reeds riot — Ruh-roh,

Raggy — sick-stuck in muck. Dengue fever

burns, feux follets. Hazy blue gloom. Hazy

blue doom. Ah, prophecy. Fade away glow.

Then chill. Not in muck but mucker’s pleasure.