.

Birds positioned on tight power lines, waiting for substance above the prettiest refinery perfuming smoke out of its tower.

I pass by quickly
Holding a rattle
Waking the faint illuminations out of the teeth of buildings.

These are our seeds
Our thoughts
Impressed throughout a century.

My death is a private one
Stretching me over disfigured branches and their elated prayers
Reaching only the tired necks of street lamps.

Yes

Street lamps that I have cowered under in moments of divinity
in early nights
In epiphanies.

Words look like dull and injured spears, poking me at night
Taunting and begging to be used and applied with virgin tongues
As I cannot maneuver through the loops and gaps and history of letters.

Finish me

Break me

Draw me on the maps

Drink me, because I thirst.

Throw me in the orange flame because my spine is gutless
Hunched over plastic key with no affection.

Call me out into the cracked and dizzying desert
because the desert keeps no time.

erase me from the stain I left in your precious mind.

Facts are useless in the dark, so is strange awareness.

This is my exit
My memory
My masterpiece.

These are the ghosts I see while driving.