I really tried not thinking about the book, but I can't. Too many things I know need work. Don't worry, readers, everything that's bugging me is in the later portions of what you have so please keep reading.
I will hold off on any changes until Saturday...unless Friday moves slowly.
And yes, I AM LOOKING UP HALLOWEEN TOURS. Will keep you posted on what I wind up doing.
When I was made from fire Poured into the tender vessel of caution That keeps my smoke from rising Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow The world chilled my touched Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want For a clear path without the distraction Of another man's boiling eyes The tip of a finger That oldest of all weapons Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch Prying open the tender seam Where the oil of thought dews Offering a new wick to ignite Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour The steam of breath betrays me Before the glint of orange spreads In popping bright waves Eroding the fibers feeding it Leaving naught but ash As my shell of quietude falls away