last night I dreamed of you

wept for you, called out to you

but prayed fervently

that you would never

resurrect,

not you…

…you one hundred millimeter

mentholated bastard,

because I see you yet

in the last moments of

disintegration

your heinous life, snuffed

and ending in a bitter blue haze

that steams forth, as you lie

crippled beyond repair

your slender body

crushed and fragmented

into a cluster of a half dozen

tiny glowing cinders,

embers that gleam

like demons’ eyes

phosphorescent

and dying

as they devolve into ash

and join the others

in the black, hard-plastic ashtray

that sits beside a white, bone china mug…

“Patty’s Diner”

“Open all Nite”

“Since 1955”

it says on the mug

a mug that’s beside

(and slightly to the left of)

a plate of scrambled eggs

and overdone potatoes…

…the platter uneaten

as Charlie Pride sings

on the tablejuke

“Just Between You and Me”

and I declare that tonight

on April the eighteenth

nineteen hundred and eighty two

at ten thirty seven PM

we are officially over.