Dehumanizing Static

I smoke them until

I breach the filter

until I burn my fingers

until the smoke

comes dancing in

between open windows

swaying back and forth

between you and night

freeing sweet, lonely you,

sweeter still than

dark.

I don’t know what hours

have said to me in morning

why in the span of miles

there is a dehumanizing static

that I throw out

in buckets.

And I smoke you until

I break the thin song

under your porch light

until you burn my feared whispers

away in brittle branches.