August Poem 43: Blowing Smoke

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.