It burned like October

I inhaled and it tasted like

hoards of scantly clad black lace Halloween costumes in the chill of the night

brilliant poets committing suicide from bridges to embankments in Minneapolis

potholes on I-40 west tearing up your car

ex-girlfriends reading love letters on a daily basis to feed a fire of a questionable end

stuffy overheated truck cabins and steaming up the windows

working doubles at a call center in a half cubicle that cutthroats would be hesitant of

exit 389's off ramp where the cities electric lights burn as lit beacons of hope into the night

I inhaled and it felt of

seedy motels off magnolia that rent by the hour

golden autumn leaf piles I jumped in as a kid

I inhaled and it burned like October...