I wriggled out from under my 2 minute cigarette
if they were any longer we would not have the
attention span to smoke them.
At the bottom of every cigarette
a new person is born
we're always a little less whole
than we were before.
People make holes in us
for hurt to reside, smoke makes shadows
in these caves
we can hide
Flimsy smoke shadows, faint cigarette,
fill and distill life's fresh breath
and help us swallow
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this is about the place under your watch that never sees the sun
kind ones' faces
About Me
- Amy McPherson
- Writing is the space that you need to make sense of things. Like gaps between words...not necessary but very helpful.
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