all the bridges burnt

you can’t rebuild

all the bridges burnt

no matter how hard you try

sure

you can walk into the ocean

the deepest of seas

with a little plastic bucket

(the kind a young child might use to make a sand castle) &

try as hard as you can

to bring back to the bellowing flames

a bucket full of water to

slowly splash out the chaos & torment left

by choices made years ago

but as quickly as you bring those buckets back

as quick as you think you are in this whole thing

(hell, you might even be a marathon runner or a triathlete),

you’ll never calm the flames---

you’ll never stop the burning &

(the damage has been done)

only you are to blame

(you get to live with it for the rest of your days).

 

no matter how lucid the dreams of reconciliation might seem,

you’ll always be savagely brought back to a

waking state,

standing on the shore between the tide rolling in &

that last bridge you burned---

lucky you, that you remember so well

lucky you, that it all will replay like some perpetual motion picture

never letting you truly rest, never a moment’s peace &

you’ll probably live longer than anyone you’ve ever known

with all these wonderfully colored sharp & hardened marbles

rolling round your skull

slicing & rolling

rolling & slicing,

so that nothing ever heals.