every day i
see the smoke truck
gently cruising.
drowning everything
in its kerosene embrace
no cigarette shop owner
is a nicotine addict
no writer of
inspirational short stories
is happy
everyone is
a sell out, sold out
an illusion of control
marketability, supply demand
curves and the inexorable
pang of money, smell of fresh
banknotes
even on the day I kill myself
the smoke truck comes
dutiful destruction
of malaria, malaises
i want to ingest the smoke
but my lungs are paper thin
YOU ARE READING
Revèuse
Poetry"Everyday we prepare a face, to face the faces we must face." TS Eliot this book will never end, it's a way for me to keep pieces of me safe.
