a trade

yes i know i’m killing myself
but nothing good comes without
sacrifice, so now – 
a wine buzz
a cigarette pinched between
my lips
as the blues fill my ears
and the sun rests its hand on
my chest.
the wind down Overland
whistles through the chambers
of my heart, and this is the trade:
life to escape death
for just a few city blocks
this Friday evening in July