Literature
fireworks and pyromania
there are more stars tonight in fiery bloom
than any other, normal night.
we stayed in our room
thin walls, curtained windows,
flashback with every flash to the bombs
to the old city, the walls and rubble and
smoke and smoke and smoke
and screaming—
shatter
pops like gunfire and thundering booms like a firestorm
(there is no snow here so it looks like the world will be ending in golden light)
what do the colors mean anymore?
not blood, not sunrises,
not exactly oxidized strontium.
red for good luck, always.
(happy new year)