Over-exhaust of some inferno: liars
case to hedge the raging cost against
the dead man's deepest loss. The bleeding-in
of light, the color play blanked out to cosmic
white, unchecked derivatives bleach every shore.
It's clean: suspend the dream mid-action,
suffer closeness (main event) —two lives' derision
in the backlight of the spent
trash in their grip. Burning for space
to **** in, burdened by what they consumed—
deny they ever made it, even as it grows
from out their hand. They'll wander for
a land to burn, crouched lighters shielding
from cold fans the doubts and duties
of the clean non-lethal air.
"I'd rather die than care," the smokers
claim, and rally 'round the spot.
Brisk trade in little leaves extortion,
quarters dropped in slots—the little lives
of pocket-things, borne true to clouds
away, your stack, your papers in
the fray. Advance your cheap diversion,
spread the caustic fire. ****-crushing
embers ***** desire in lieu
of one more hit, and those who knew it
never left unlit.