Today I breathed fire.

Inhaled enough oxygen to fill the tank

my grandfather wears golfing, let it

simmer in my stomach

with churning undigested anger; then

vomited out flames

like Trogdor, like my words

were a volcano of truth

burning everything and everyone in

their path, even

searing my lips raw.

But the wind, clever thief

that it is, snatched up these flickers

of fireborn words in its

pickpocket fingers and carried them


Nobody could hear what I had roared; all

they could see was the wisp of

smoke trailing

from my singed mouth.