i brace
the impact of this death-collision,

my eyes search the
emptiness of sleep
yet there is a hanging invitation.
a counterplot to my figure's
incessant clamor.

to dance upon the
slenderness of this road altogether,

lighting our cigarettes,
mapping out our deaths
painstakingly.

we know not its macabre,
we pain not over
its toxicities,

takes it closer
  to lips and then purses
a blow of haze curling over
   our brows,
we cannot contain its ballistic call,
its ruthless honesty knows
   no stoppage.

we call death like
a finite answer to a fold of
questions!