Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A Cigarette

The cigarette between her teeth
flared
like the nostril of a dragon
while she glowered
silently
across the table.

The cigarettes gleamed
in the smoke shack
like the eyes of
headlight-hypnotized deer
gathered in the dark
of their nicotine addiction.

The cigarette butt scattered
as sparks across the highway,
a phoenix run aground
and burning itself out
one final time.

As a nova
too far away to be of consequence,
the cigarette extinguished
upon Brahma’s breath.

The word seared and scarred
as a hot cigarette
pressed hard upon the flesh.

Fading in luminosity
as a beatnik on stage
running low
on mojo,
the cigarette butt sputtered out.

Unlit, the cigarette was as an
unborn infant
awaiting the burning away
of innocence.

She took his meaning
the wrong way
as a tongue takes a lit cigarette
backwards.

The ash tray welcomed the cigarette
as a grave the gravedigger.

She signed the divorce papers
by the light of
the lipstick-stained cigarette
she found by the nightstand
of their marriage bed.

The cigarettes were shuffled
in their pack
by a careless hand, all conscripted
into a unit of soldiers
soon to be burned away
by the whim of idle lips.

Stoked kindling
to start the wildfire
consuming the black forest
of the lungs,
the cigarettes burned.

Under her smoldering heart
his manhood burned itself out
as a cigarette
lost in her brassiere.

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