Abject destruction, recent and discrete

Like a meteorite or arsonist.

Fire plunged or erupted, freedom crater, a family room corona.

The

My spine is a centigrade backdraft at the helpless backseat skeletons.

Scales, herpetic wasting, bleeding shingles rapture as they sublimate to sky. A winking in the alley unscorched. This moment of violence was an isolated hell.

A propane tank in close proximity to a recent fire is always a clue of some kind.

The blistered edge of a merciful erasure, the flashing and off-white belie the homeless mercilessness of warmth.

Time traffics both ways between the grotto and infernal, a choir above the tinnitus where the bloodthirsty seraph horns glisten, slick with fat, a horror.