Sunday, January 5, 2014

Pixelated Virus

The smoke was dancing
as it left my lungs

and just like that

45 memories
that never happened.

One more drop of blood
to extinguish
or add to
the ever-screaming inferno.

And despite my windows up
it’s still snowing
in my car.

it’s odd;

outside is even.

The river runs
and you’re halfway

to December
through August.

Nothing could kill me;

nothing killed me
except that final shot
of absinthe –

too much laudanum

all on fire.