Inspired by this photograph on ello (combined with a bit of hunching over the typewriter)…

Sparks from the rings
embedded in her lower lip
shave sand off the paper
screeching the wheel to a halt

Metal on metal calls

Brown moths cover every surface of the light
which flickers as they shift position
to keep from being burned

Ashes to ashes, they fall

The strain pulls back from the center
distorting the figure
in the other direction
pounding pounding pounding out
cries for help
and a hundred thousand other things
before giving up
and sinking into the soft surface
that slopes toward sleep

The moths wish they were fireflies
so they could light their own way
instead of being struck dumb
by the heat that draws them closer
to another fiery end

(21 July 2018)