Day 9 - Rorschach

 There is a man reaching out 

to grab at your throat. His hand is  a murmuration of swallows;  is the smoke rising from so many  chimney stacks. The hollow of  his eye becomes the apex  of a tunnel that feeds back into  the burning house. There is a man reaching out with  a fist that looks like war. He wants  to break you, burning his name  into the paths along the streets  he forms from his tongue. The birds dive again, reforming into  the silhouette of your body; becoming a bonfire just to burn your image if he can’t claim it for his own.