Seekers of Power
Under the weight of a shoe,
old ash is underfoot.
It is coal black and exhausted.
In the distance, direct flames
on the edges ignite a dragging rope.
With a pack of cigarettes worth of energy,
tear ducts run dry and cryptic definitions
are applied to well-known words.
Old ideas are burned. Seekers of power
shift and dance in the low-hanging smog.
They say justice is what you make it.
Imagination hides in knotholes, slots, and cracks.
