What am I doing? Standing here
in the driest, cracked land that hasn't felt
water in months. I breathe in red dust and choke
it out, blink it from my eyes in reddish tears.
Everything snaps when you walk on it,
including me, and I throw a match just to hear
the crackling, to feel the burn of every smoky
breath that seers my throat, to taste the soot
of angry regret. Everything burns.