Icebox dawn on graffitied brick.

Where I weave

between a bustling past

and barren tomorrow.

Nose pink as the sun peaks

above a bridge and distant stacks spit

clouds into a clear sky.

Billowed white disrupting chronic blue

and a chair, abandoned

overlooks an ocean, reflecting.

I refuse this break, turn

to full view of smokestack spew.

Midnight melts like paper-plate ice cream,

cake frosting, and candles

ascending white wisps against

this party’s darkness. 

Whiskey tongues slur visible breaths 

mixed with cigarette smoke.

Through the door, unfamiliar warmth.

Amber light on an armchair

spilling stuffing out the side 

like a lit chimney in its best birthday soot.

Puffing away like a dried-up poet. 

I throw myself into flame

each time trying to find

some smolder I can hold.

The smoke billows

beyond my control.

Chokes lungs. Scorches skin

of potential loves. 

This bed burns nightly.

Caustic sheets and casual banging mean

I always wake to ash and ember.

Try steady breaths

to revive the fleeting warmth

but extinguish the final flame

and generate more smoke.