Play

In the fireplace
Two logs burn serendipitously
But I want another blanket

They say the snow
Will last until tomorrow

Now and then
A branch pops up like a soggy spring
Shaking off the weight of white

Given the circumstance of seasons
Living like this is not so bad

But take away the heat
And you know what’s left

Flames growing smaller
Eyes licking the future
Dry pine burning its sparks into ash
I’m melting into an orange ego sunset

It’s not living like this

Hand me another drink
I’ve been failing all day

Make me make-believe
That electricity lasts
That the universe will keep pulling
Its minutes out of me

Sing me the song I need to hear
We can keep this a secret

I have never really loved anyone

Martin Balgach holds an MFA from Vermont College and works for a publishing company in Boulder. His writing and criticism has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bitter Oleander, Cream City Review, Margie: The American Journal of Poetry, Many Mountains Moving, Opium Magazine, Poetry Miscellany, Rain Taxi, and elsewhere.

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