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.
Here
it’s odd;
outside is even.
The river runs
diagonally
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.
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