My support group jerked and jutted
into a crowd mob full of phantoms
dancing about us, unbothered by
death but eager to bicker about
which of us addicts masquerade as alive best.
Eventually, one ghost hammers the asphalt
with his feet, fashioning an incline
to tilt us into finite. Sensing danger,
one of us declares his love for all gods.
Most of the others split themselves into
chips of flint, rubbing parts of themselves
together until they burn into rapture, but I
do not burn like flint and was a fool
to chip myself into this many pieces.