The burning

This I have done before: 

Lit a lamp at night, and watched 
The flame licked the wick sallow and shy.

I waited until the flicker turned
A steady glow, bending to the leer of the wall.

With a quick wrist, I
Forked through one of the isolated words, 

A stark thrust by the loop 
Squirming to be fed—an extensible yawn.

Few of the limbs might dangle low,
But no struggle, no fuss, 

The word was to be pressed against
The fire for historical examination, 

Integrity, etymology—different pronunciations
In various states of emergency.

Interruption ensued. A fizz of warmth, 
A portion of the word combusted in flame;

The remaining cinder
Precipitated like black snow.

Words like these were not meant to be read. I could
Write them down, but they would only mar in print,

Whilst the actual writing happened
Elsewhere, in the dark.

Dale Chou
2012-07-13