How much,

the old men want to give me their wisdom

and how much

they want to give me their rules

their love

comes from me listening

and I am too weak to talk.

I try to say something, and they

don’t want to hear it.

How boring, to say

what’s already in my head.

I would rather ride my bicycle

down a hill

with my clothes on fire

and light-up a dark tunnel

with my fashionable flames

the leaves rustle, and burn, and color the dusk, with their gold

and the woods don’t worry, and I don’t worry

when I am in the woods.

People are projecting their distortions

of the past and future onto me

My advice, would be… to feel really good

Not like an out-of-balance drug high

but a joy that sings its own song in the dark of the day

So, if I’m silent, I’m listening to you

and I’m also listening to everything I love

and that might be

the only way

to feel on fire.

2 thoughts on “Feel on Fire

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