In this small world where we must wear shoes
and eat from best-seller lists,
where we must rebel in accordance with law
and know what we’re talking about,
there are people who must die.
These are people who live lonely lives,
who store giggles in mason jars,
who write phrases they’ve kindled on alley walls
without a signature.
These are the few who set fires,
the ones we don’t fear but can pity-
they are kaleidoscope hearts
and they must be snuffed out.
We will hustle them into feral corners in peace
with our tongues of luxurious fire,
shaming their ways while applauding their choice
to accept their malignant colors
like a curse.
We don’t torment but we know how to shove them off,
calm their waves with disapproval
and the rarity of their kind
is as a lighthouse beam forever
Spinning, endless, in their hope
but finding naught.