Man on Fire II
Is it the same man each time? His arms tired from being held aloft while the accelerant is applied. While he is combusted. The dance now boring. So he throws in an extra step here, a pirouette there. When the director is tired or distracted, the man dreams of falling down stairs, cascading out of this cameo as a comet to come round when a new omen is needed. The fire foreshadows. Blurs his features. That is why they never question. He could be anyone alight. Stumbling through their role. He is geography of nowhere brought to a boil. The thousandth iteration of a rest stop where we pull off to get our bearings. The single lamp shining down on the parking lot. Where nothing awaits just out of frame. No street sign. No shelter. Not even rain.