He says we’re not sustainable. That our energy is combustible – every conversation formed by striking matches on brick filled alleyways, swarming to a bonfire and heating the world with effortless interaction.
Nights that were made to test the boundaries of sleep deprivation are spent as though together we make a spark plug, bouncing electricity off our tongues and waiting for the words to ignite. We are hot. There is always smoke over the lake these days and I know some people wonder where it comes from but I know it is just because we are standing next to each other. Who knew coexisting could set me on fire.
We are consuming the next generation’s fossil fuels as if we need it just to fill our bones. Gasoline dribbling from the corners of our eyes because in unison we decide we are flammable; oil puddling in the places between my toes like I am bleeding out all the dark things I’ve ever thought; tar clinging beneath my fingernails even as I press my hands to my heart in laughter because man, love sure can be sticky.
I was taught to care for the earth; raised by hippy parents in an effort to spread the joy – I hugged trees and preached a sermon of renewable energy, a doctrine of cleanliness and conservation. But for the first time I can tell you that I don’t give a damn about the environment because I want to watch you light up every night in flame and the only thing I worry about is whether or not I will be able to shovel in the coal fast enough. There is always smoke over the lake these days and I know some people wonder where it comes from, but don’t ask because there’s wonder in watching something beautiful burn.