I fear most the most beautiful:
the city up in flames
the chanting figure’s hair on fire
our horizon lit with prophecies and wings
of the tall birds who look after us
I fear those I love
the beauty that can harm them
into seeing / I fear the girl –
fear her feasting on the sight
of seeing fire /
fire I fear the most fire I love
the most for the beauty of its loss
its purity of fear
I fear most the most beautiful
the city struck with flames
the chanting figure’s mind on fire
the horizon filled with prophecies and wings
of the large birds that clean up after us
I fear I love the fear
of fire / I fear the love
of the loss of;
I fear most
the fire of the beauty
I can’t stand
Mark Conway is currently completing a third book of poems entitled fuse. Other poems have appeared in The Paris Review, Slate, The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Kenyon Review Online, Iowa Review, Boston Review and Bomb.