Burning the prunings

The canes of last years full summer
sacrificed for the next urgent spring
lie like a huge tangled pile of ideas
each with its own coiled spring of prejudice.

The flame shows its ambition early
pretty as candlelight, transparent as lust,
licking along it’s consuming path.
The willing gas sighs and crackles
like passion feeding on itself
devouring the source of inspiration

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