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.
