Cigarettes
Your radio refuses to pick up
signals, it fades into
the air like a cigarette
from one of the empty
Marlboro boxes in the corner
you're too scared to touch.
But inside you are full.
You don't hit the dust
until revolution twenty-one,
after you let go.
You don't burn blue,
you're open like tide on the shore.
7 comments:
mmm. Probably my favorite yet.
more than just a puff.... thought it was full of tidy little tidbits of emotion... glad to have stopped by nightlight no 5
Wow. I dig it. Has a lovely rhythm to it. :)
I'm with Inkgirl--this is my favorite of your NaPoWriMos so far.
I've spent so many hours in libraries looking for poetry like yours. Bukowski, Mojgani, Wakefield. And now you. Thank you for this
i really like ur poetry! ur a really good writer
i really like ur poetry! ur a really good writer
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