|
my friends
Legs crossed indian style
smoking the last
burnt black tobacco twig
along miko road
Unravelling smoke signals
like the long gray hair
of ghosts
The cigarettes witchnose
sibilating
strands of cumulus caterpillars
climbing to the sky Searching
for a god to call their own
we are all men
Sending our smoke signals
to heaven Breathing caterpillars
into the long lines of our lungs
Sinking the slate slab
of our tongues Flicking
the fuzz the fur
as it licks like flame
the mouths hanging mist
its tooth sequoias
its thick white tombstones
its bleached ghost buildings
somehow scraping the skys
stolen sempiternity
|
