Hot Beams, Tear me Apart


Can you float above me—but don’t watch me fall
I try to keep this in line, but trying is peril

Watch his finger strike lightning
Watch the pink dust kick from his feet
Watch as every word cascades around us
Like some kind of thirst I knew when I was young

The crowds a sea
Blasts, faint hearts
What will it take, father to tear me apart?

Growing shadows from fading hot beams
Please, showman, don’t go away
Oh, the crowd’s pace is heartbreak
You can’t mend it
Growing silence as your passion-cries are gone
The voices inside me are a din

And sometimes I imagine this paper is touch
And that the light of my lamp tells me your secrets
That what you started never finished
That I can float where nothing’s cast behind me
That there is a land of pink dust
Hot beams, tear me apart

Melanie Falconer is a freelance writer and editor living in Los Angeles, California. Her writing mainly concerns philosophy, personal experiences, cultural commentary, and her love of the visual and performing arts. If you’d like to reach out to her, you can do so here.

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