Is this a real reaction or a trained behavior that makes me believe these chemicals work to such an effect
that I light another in a forming chain of cigarettes
while sat on this tabletop, concrete and graffiti, hoping the sun sets
hoping to see that burning bright eye blink and close, that its gaze forgets
and out of Lake Waco a figure only visible to me extends their hand to dance
the offer peaceful, dark, silent, and I accept it, "Let's."

Away past all the happy people with other people
who sit beside them and keep them
away past all the moments and waste
all the chatter falls quiet, they mean nothing for real, for once
away over the grass and over the edge, into the ripples
with the still-lit candle burning at both ends,
ashes falling from my lips, the taste of my life
as I turn to a polluted waste,
washed clean, washed ever, forever away

There hanging in the sky once I open my eyes
feeling a breeze of seven PM on my neck
is the sun, brighter as it dangles lower, orange
and purple, regal and mocking
for but an hour or so I lasted
although, now my sadness evaporated
and now I steer off under falling shadow
smoke scent about my collar
misery, dangerously close to the banks I wallow
this place called home, I go.