Take a deep breath. Deeper. Take their smoke in
Your lungs. Become them. Become carriers
Who could be rendered with sparks and smoke long
As scraggly brush blown off the burn pile. Long
Of the yellowed cotton filters. Burned out.
And the butts everywhere. Burned out. Scattered
With these used up people. Dotted. Frayed by
Their time in the dryer. Hand around the
Black lake. Willing all find their way carried
Brains like piles of clean clothes. Thoughtless heaps.
They smell of diffuse cigarette smoke. Like
Mental peanut butter. In line for the
Illness. Blacks your fingertips with each touch.
With the paper gone. Dissolved. Washed away.
therichardbraxton 