Smoke

by April Pierce

At first a fluted glass allure
As thin as membrane feeling
Film or early love and theory
Disappearing, skimming
Cream: I want your
Existential self- to lick
The salt and lift the
Flitting apprehension:
Clotted lust inside
The pulse and panting
Verve of You and I and then

We age a little,
Just a little darker-lined
We plan for breaks and faults
And in them age a little
More inhaling just
To do it, just to know
The self that heals or bats
Around the scratch, that
Once scorched lung and heart
And only now does care and concept
Thicken, sticking to some grown-up plan
As dull as arteries unmanned
By ash

You now, unconscious king
Of all unconscious craving things
Seek out the symbol-
Secure as gluey darkened tissue
Tarred to steeple of the mouth
Discount the gaping hole-
Cling fast as twisted cloth to oil
Addiction heavier than time
Or hand or table. Pulling
Here and there (I love you hard as
granite thick as bone: I know, I know)
Down and cankered, downward-finding

Dirt and grind to make
I one with soil and
Sickened breath
Pull in and down
To thick crestfallen ebb
Pitch-black

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Filed under Issue 2, Poetry

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