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.
memories of my ghost sista 