Oh, tragedy!

How can I keep the past,

where it belongs?

I’ve burned books,

I’ve burned bridges.

But where do the bindings go?

Lord of the night, beating

quiet flight on owl wings.

An oath broken.

Oh, tragedy!

Baby, I’m burnin’.

A fallen star

on the horizon.

Sparkling, electric.

A ghost in glass tubes.

Screaming, haunting.

Plasma phosphorescent.

Memories living in nails

played back like a video.

The past is behind you,

and time

is a circle.