Quitting, or a few in a bunch
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7:53
I peek inside at white-tipped cylinder promises. Tonight’s the night. Inhalation and withdraw. I try not to stare at the molten face crackling between index and middle. I daub at glass and phenethyl phenylacetate. Then snuff. 9:02 My shadow is two things: William B. Davis in practice and a three-eared rabbit. My mouth empties a plume of eruptive columns. Once, we ritually laid naked while the other’s body was encased in such clouds. 9:45 Mustached man in white hat, shaded camel and your 18-body-leaning-out-of-kitchen-window’s- view, told me so. I’ll try a match an ode. Like a chalice before slaughter. Light the last and breathe. 4:13 Playing with my literal self, again. Some movie plot and a bad thought. Coconut incense, a glass of bathroom water. Ruminating daylight. Keep me company. Tell me again: what was it they said that made dark the dawn? |