I Imagine Sandburg, and Me
I read, just the other day, of Sandburg
and his imagining, his death by tree
and loud meanderings and I wondered
about me. He made a moment to tell
the way. What would I do, what would I like?,
and stared through greasy hair until it came,
a lighter in my hand. In flames, that way,
a greasy curl straightened with my fingers.
For once, Id like to set myself on fire.