and ears–a primal echo–
thousand tongues of flame,
magnesium-bright stars fall
to oohs and ahhs and silence.
Filed under Poetry
Tagged as fireworks, fourth of July, inner pyro, poetry, tanka, they aren't fireworks if you can't feel the concussion in your chest
this was my life for many July 4. I am hoping to revive my show next year
Every year I tell myself I’ll be somewhere awesome for New Year’s and catch brilliant fireworks then. I’ll pull it off one of these days. To date my favorite display was Bastille Day in Paris. Sheesh, that’s tomorrow, I almost forgot about it!
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