Cienfuegos
The white pin wheel of heat turns up the grasses' edge. Some dried plant stalks shrivel, then melt openly into layers of fire. It is end - time for the community's Christmas trees. Something akin to burnt offerings, reluctant souls or hedging captives kept alive ghoulishly for some cannibal's feast; this festival of crackling. They have served their purpose, now. Bound, no faggots need be applied. Contumely, the quiet desperation darkens the child's face. The headlights rain down on Christmas' debris. A hundred little fires as cigarette warnings daub the night air. The forest of smoke, canyon of the torch, where black marauders poke the nostril.
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About this line
"The white pin wheel of heat turns up the grasses' edge...."
"Cienfuegos" is a quintessential example of Paul Cameron Brown's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...