The first burn victim,
History,
Made the statement
That a free man,
Optimist by circumstance,
Should build white walls
To face the blue of the sky
And to guard against the sea.
And that danger
Beckons from elsewhere,
From far away dunes,
The middle of the Earth or
Mirrored offices high up
Over a maze of pipes
Pointing fingers directly
At the selfishness glee.

The sunset boulevard
Spills in your first car,
The yellow corona,
The abstract geometry
Of red hair held tight
Leaning with and into
The feminine curves:
Esses, cees and maybies
That somehow wind down
To the white of the blue.
I know what it takes.
And maybe it's just fair,
But now like in Tehran
Ash under the hot sun:
Memory,
The way it used to be.

Jam25