Like a Baby Smoking a Cigarette…


Styrofoam clouds lurch across Heaven,
Examined through a curtain of breath,
Steamed onto cold glass. And there’s
Tomirrorafrown) a narc stranded
Like a soldier trained for war
On the eve of a peace agreement.
I wonder
Can metal taste fashion? I swear
The monitor is reflecting
Whatever I do,
But generic motions
Cannot be worth mimicry.
Said. Or don’t

I promise we can keep going.

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