I Say Click

Wintertime smokers

numble with fumb

digits and

puff like thermal protrusions along oceanic fault lines.

Dope-sick spoon-holders make me go click

before they stick their blood-straws.

Opioids and hypodermic intrusion introducing

heat into chilled, sub-limbic meat.

Little boys torture ants and deer ticks with me,

All of us laughing, clicking and merry –

except for the insects

and stricken parental units.

Squirmy worm-pyre and psychiatrist mom.

I am butane’s black hole,

Gaseous Clay, ignition powerhouse, ur-fire,

licking the market despite trick-

ass hipsters torching with Zippos

(fuck Zippos, indisposable pricks).

Marlboro Red Pocket Pack, Camel Blues, Parliament Aqua Blue, 100’s, Newport Menthols, Pall Mall Tropic Twist Slims, Drum, Amber Leaf, Unfiltered Turkish Blends, Swisher Sweets, joints, spliffs, Zig Zag, carved Aromatic Macintosh feverishly roasted in supermarket parking lots.

Person, meet Product.

Fire, meet Flammable.

Lung, meet Cough.

You flick, I say click.