as my irresponsible, bottle rocket heart
illuminating a slick, black road ahead,
that might or might not
have been flooded entirely with tears.
Washed over by detonations,
at last louder
than the repetitive drums of memory and shame,
the noise is an immense release.
Gold and orange sparks sequin
that flash now with joy as well as rage.
Burning bridges blaze with such a
The Beautiful Light of Burning Bridges: Independence Night