Statement From An Arsonist

At the small town meetings
they held by candle light,
in the shed out by the pond
where the judge had a cabin,
there would always be a moment
at the end where anyone could
say what they were thinking.

One night, after discussing
the matters delivered
from above, the town arsonist
stood up and made a statement
in the space before the meeting broke.
The following were her words
as precisely as I can remember them.

We’ve all experienced terror
like a big dog barking through
the fence, or fear like any
instance where we know
we are alone and there
is no one who can save us
from whatever’s up there
biting through the sky.

I wonder if you counted
all the lies we told tonight
would it become obvious
that it’s primarily for fun?
I have watched you all
dance on the graves
of sacrificed cattle,
using the bones as
decoration for your days off,
and I have joined you
there and drank what you
were pouring.

I have seen the hidden architecture
and heard the forgotten songs
the etchings of an unfamiliar landscape.
We have always had the best secrets
collecting them like coins
from different places all worth
amounts completely separate
from what they’re made of.

With our lies we have hoarded
all the truth in pages of screaming
souls begging to be heard by all
they’ve left behind.
So many obvious signs point
at the limits of this kind of grand
deception. The erosion of our space
into another being the most insidious.
I have had it with you all, and hope
you can remember how it felt
to stand alone out here because
the rest are on their way.
I’ve said all I came here to say.

Her face was then erased from all existence. .

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