Rethinking the Burning of Books

Regret is the only book I’ve ever

Burned: I threw it into the fire

As a useless text, and resolved

To stand still for awhile, and feel

Is overgrown anyway before we

Even reach its end. We already saw

Its sights and blistered our feet

And froze our asses off walking

A bonfire built to burn regret

Destroys every pathway leading

Future that lies beyond its flaming

Circle. Its message is fiery and

Stark—five syllables flaming

In the present tense: It is what it is.

A declaration, of sorts. A manifesto,

If you will. A way to live.