08
Dec
09

Yeats’ Gyre and Very Real Smoke

Smoking my blue moon cigarette
–Blue moon gyres every third day
–These days
At foursomething ayem
On backalley porch when
A guy not looking bummish
Walks to my dumpster
Prodding around with
Plastic bags in hand
Until seeing me.
Then, he fiddles
Trying to play cool
As if he were ashamed,
And walks away headdown.
Dig  on!
Man
I think nothing less of you.
I would have thought better
Had you continued prodding.
These hours we keep
Us away from reality.
Dumpsters are reality –
Whatever you were scavenging
Food, clothes, recylcables
Or maybe just thrifty knickknacks
Keep at it – scavenging is reality too
And I simply aren’t as real as you.

Beautiful it is when I breath out smoke
Not knowing where it stops
And my december breath starts.
Its all smoke to the eye.
It all looks like nicotineless mist.
That is, until wind shifts
And then its real smoke to the eye.
It cries.
And now its my turn to be ashamed.
To walk away headdown

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1 Response to “Yeats’ Gyre and Very Real Smoke”


  1. 1 Mom
    December 14, 2009 at 4:44 am

    I love this about you, among many, many other things.


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The reason for all this is not reasonable. The reason, strictly art, Still makes no sense to me.

The Wheel

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