An Introspective
i (train tracks)
Standing ankle deep
muddy boots,
by empty silent train tracks
underneath a dogwood,
blossoms like white cigar-smoke rings.
(Don’t worry: the lilies have clothes
and the birds have food.)
ii (bald spot)
Lying knee high
brown-grassy curtain,
atop my mountain perch,
Sun, behind his orange veil
perched on his own mountain,
underneath a yawny blue sky,
cloud trails like dying white cigar-smoke rings.
(Conscience is quiet behind gratification.)
iii (inside)
Crouching beside
crimson tinted heart,
inside my ribcaged chest.
Lungs filling thick with air,
slowly deflating flat,
stomach pumping full of bile.
long winded exhale blows white cigar-smoke rings.
(Sometimes one must test to make sure he is not what he hates.)