by on October 14, 2023 :: 0 comments

Teasing little lights,
palette overflowing,
mimicking the stars–
hang from my balcony
on festival nights.

I light lies to cover up
the dreary looking fulcrum
of dreams and myths
that are already peeling off.

No molten wax residues,
no smell of the burnt wicks
to remind us of origins and foreparents and lost languages.

There are no leftovers now
to clean up but our carbon footprints and war debris and bomb-shelled homes and media montage…

editors note:

We light our leftovers for someone (there’s no one) else. – mh clay

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