the last smokerthe last smokerMore Like This
from a broken cup
on a metal desk
A blue haze hangs
in florescent light
Eyes fixed through
scratched and fogged lenses
"Hey, this is a state facility"
The CloudThe cloud moves through the land,More Like This
treachery on its mind, blood on its hands.
Sharp winds are its motive, giving it strength.
A black mass of rage filling the air,
consuming the sky and horizon's length,
heart lost inside its stormy lair.
Say SayMore Like This
it will say
and how will I know the way
the bread crumbs in the forest
will show me more
and the bird will trill
and a yellow leaf will spiral before me
grass bending before the breeze
and all these things
come to me
that are as real as
the pile of bills on the kitchen table
a corner of an envelope
a fingerprint of hope
picking up crumbs
a parable to chase my worries away.