We built you up from a spark,
raised you up and nurtured you
on this empty private beach.
We fed you wood from fences,
wood from railings, brush
and hay and driftwood—
fed you the wind and the salty
ocean air. you ate and you grew.
A six foot flame, smoke
and spots of burning light trailing behind,
your matted hair burning
like a torch, your gnarled burning hair
and your wagging gnarled fingers,
your waxy bruised skin, blistering, cracking,
burning and the burning all lit
by you, burning gnarl bitch—
even the moon and stars refuse
to shine until your burning
is finished, you gnarled bitch,
Old Snaggleroot!
Each minute ticked away
with the blowing of your embers
into the sea, aguggle.
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