thrilled by the dusty smells

smokes are much closer to the heart
from reading statuses to following tweets
to going out just at the kind of right time
at least and in the kitchen with this nicotine-yellow colour
sorry is too long to say anyway and again
and again to the point that it is hard to loiter in public
using thumb and middle finger
stuck by the empathy of the mere moralists
oh that lovely scratchy ill-fitting humming garment
ego is stubbing out the delusion into its own distinguished completion
a kind of meta-fixed form that should be the blue of the sky
or the preparatory note to the generations after generations
on the potentialities of movements and styles
but peering up for reincarnation simply isn’t done
would the memory be painful and wear its influences on its sleeve?
strange and subtle wind at the window standing
within whimsy distance for these recessionary times
make a dash for the door and greet the big outside world


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