pushpins releasing the blaze from within
flushed fingertips
sweaty palm
I've been holding the light in
all along
I gloss it over
with sick eyes
but its selfish and addicting
to keep a glow
burning your fist
--light likes to be free
and the raw pain
of sunshine
welling up
is what I'll suffer to feel
all the heat
warms places
too intransigently abstract
to call places,
but focusing, the shining beam
trickles and skips
along the invious lines
of my palm
and the luminosity
might be hidden
but it might
just so long as it


and it is released.
what's it to you?
who go