My mother burned out like a California forest fire.
She was a gas truck overturned in the fast lane,
Machine gun hallucination briefly gracing this mortal world
Of ashtray twirls and prescription painkillers.
She sacrificed her senses to set guilt free,
Tore the roof off the cave so that everyone could see.
Life is a balance of pleasure and pain,
Excess and moderation,
Growing and dying.
I have borne witness to the bloody consequences
Of the selfish choices our ancestors made for us,
Promises that will lead our damaged children
Through the burning forests and blinding cityscapes
Where Echoes walk now,
Tired, sick, addicted, condemned,
And blessed to be free. –Jack Blare