W r a t h

I burned my bridges 

To light the way, 

Of sundered thoughts 

Crossing bay. 

Brazen embers 

Dousing dawn 

My watering-hole: 

The petrol farm.  

I filled the can 

To its spilling point, 

Then blew a kiss 

To the holy cloister. 

Lit its idols 

Turned fallen-watchers, 

Christened floor: 

No Gods, No Masters.