(2)
The orange fire raged inside the barrel
its heat competing with sunrise
The new nomad shook her feet
the dust settled into the metal scraps
the wild dogs sniffed her robes
the rags started falling off
as she ran
The old man shuffled the cards
the joker peeked out from behind the clubs
his hands were covered in rings
which started coming off
as he slept
The orange fire raged inside the barrel
the homeless warmed their gloves
the odd smell of factories covered the air
but the smog began to roll away
with sunrise
The blue guitar played a lonesome jig
in the small cafe next to the tourist trap
the passports and the wallets wailed
the money started at the fingertips
and fell into the tip jar
as they listened
The man at the casino grew intense
he had never met
anyone that made as much sense
the journalist kept explaining
that the rage was real
but like a dream
all these stories
would never connect
the nomad, the man and the fire
I awoke with the sun in my eyelashes
thinking of factories
and a dirt path
and someone running
through the smoke