cigarette's voice
they sleep until lit
then they're awake and up
I cross the street
jogging with a gallon
cartons
worth that match, but the weight ain't worth it
that moment, in the sewers,
with the light shining on 'em
death
had to be scripted
smokescreen
wires and red lights
aglow
through the walls
watch the smolder settle from a fresh carcass
corpse
or
detect life in my words
harvesting inspiration from fields
when that farmer wakes up in the morning
heads out to evaluate the patches
inventory
he'll see two axes
and wonder
bright pages
lit
and smoking because they had them
one final rendezvous on that bridge when the sequel rolls around
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