stepping on the wire

Violating the usual moratorium on using poems "from that book", I decided to place this one in play, today.

stepping on the wire

warm flesh and impending memory
dreams cold and cut like fish in the bin.
sin. time spins a bottle full of venom
to the edge of where we've been.
do not expect my sympathies
if your tale is not well told.
too often iron pyrite
is bartered out as gold.
and I am left with the fool's debit
cashed upon my heart.
burned beyond remembering
where the game did start.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.