Bump Fire

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Image Source: Flickr (cc)

the brush of a hand
slays in

whispers what
the fire cannot take

grows to an inferno

keeping pace with
heartbeats on the floor,

we are less than fully automatic,
or a bump stock, yet we feel
the trigger.

© Ben Ditmars 2017

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Haiku in Memory of Tom Petty

~

i smell of the moon –

one last time to kill the pain

and taste rock candy.

~

no, i won’t back down

among the wildflowers

we belong to them.

~

music and chaos

free fall into nothing, the

sounds of nineteen guns.

~

she was an american girl…

a nurse, a teacher, a veteran.

~

© Ben Ditmars 2017

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Photograph Courtesy of Helle Gade

Fantasists

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Image Source: Flickr

we became those people overnight,

fantasists who daydream holding

hands and speak in whispers of ‘true love’

like nothing came before a kiss across

the console of a Chevy Cruz or

will exist without space curvature

across the low points of

our spines…

~

i’ve fanned the flames

and lost myself in

your geometry.

____

© Ben Ditmars 2017