Earth, Wind and Fire (Poetry)

Pinhead-small in all that space,
tough elemental tumbleweed
yo-yos on a cosmic string.
God sleeps on through,
the prologue improvised,
the cast ragged and unsure.

A key is rusting in its lock,
the door turns out to be a tree —
rings of hearts pulse green with blood —
open forest surgery,
the wind’s a knife.

They’re playing Lear again —
camping it up,
car crash people
dream where they sit,
unleash the doomsday dragon
from its pit,
the curtain blows, on fire.