On the festival's last day
sun going down
we burned him
The Primal Man, yeah
just gotta give him up
to the fire

I was pretty far gone
on sleepless nights
and too many tabs
but I did notice
when the chick next to me
pulled off her shirt
and sent it sailing up
into the flames
followed by her sandals
till all that was left
were cut-off jeans
and one silver earring

Hey, you got to watch out
for your feet here
I said, concerned
Lots of sharp stuff
on the ground

The mistake
all these people are making
she said, smiling
is to think that his nature
is more than just  human nature
The fire's right for him
but not for the reason
they think

Her legs, her arms, the arch
of her neck
moved with the hot light
and she had a scent
of sweat and juniper

What's your name
I asked, and she smiled again

I'm the sister
he didn't get around
to literally fucking
Would have been
redundant, I suppose

That was as much comment
as she had for me
she turned her back
on the roaring
now, roaring
spouting periodic jets
sparks, arcing
into the night
and she walked away
and man, it was hot now
wicker, male framework
on a pyre of railroad ties
torching up

I went to look for that chick
didn't find her
my skin was tight, red
in the gathering night

Poem copyright R. Paul Sardanas
Artwork copyright Felipe Echevarria

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