I know less than I used to —
or more to the point
I newly distrust what I have known;

discard certainties, ask more
questions, live more with no answers
to old questions.  Fire-feeding,
all the time, using past platitudes
for fuel.

What little I still trust
doesn’t glow or shine
as much as burn low,
those slow burnished embers
a dull rose under fluffed ash.

One can keep warm a long time
by a heat as small as that.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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