My Hair Is On Fire

July 21, 2012


My Hair Is On Fire

My hair is on fire. Smoking has all kinds of unaccustomed results. It was genetics. Not cigarettes. My hair was orange. And in the daylight, the sun and I looked like mad twins.

You’re too angry. I turned around. Maybe its cancer. In my belly. But nothing is as good as. You promised. God has a blue print. It was pinned to the dinner table. I was offered a glass of wine. And a piece of his stomach. Which made me vomit.

In the vale. My grandfather’s voice would sail. On Sunday mornings. The sweetness of his words. Were like a curse to the world that had rushed out. To watch. The crucifixion. On the hill.

My fingers are crooked. My hair is white. My children are beautiful. My wife has put her arm around my shoulder. Things will be alright. But I can’t look up. I’m still pissed.

2 Responses to “My Hair Is On Fire”

  1. “My hair was orange. And in the daylight, the sun and I looked like mad twins.” <– love this. so vivid.

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