11-18-2013, 10:34 AM
Revision 3
I slip a paper from its trim packet.
Behind the nipped strands of nestled tobacco
I slide a cotton safety cylinder;
slim defence against the stiff pinch
of cured golden Virginia weed,
an unassuming purveyor of need.
Two, perhaps three rolls, quickly fold,
a swift flick and right to left lick
gums the seal on this deadly little jacket.
A scratched match flares, then smoulders.
Amber shadows dim and glow as I draw deeply.
Conjured ghostly tendrils entwine my mind.
Calmed, I succumb to the sinister delusion.
Vessels constrict, circulation slows,
numbness feathers into my toes.
Shrouded in an ashen wreath, a wretched reek
expelled through grey yellowing teeth
signals to all I'm getting older.
The stubbed butt writhes and hisses,
snuffed amidst the remains of fallen comrades.
They will have vengeance. I will gasp
in a fetid fog and curse
with a despairing final wheeze
this habit that began with such ease.
For splutters and chokes, heart attacks and strokes
are but torturous tools inflicted upon fools;
true death is delivered in a thousand kisses.
So I ask myself, "If that's what's to come,
where's the damn harm in just another one?".
That thought, right there,
that casual swear
is when they won,
and a scratched match flares.
Revision 2
The Cremator
I slip a paper from its trim packet,
and behind the nipped strands of nestled tobacco
I slide a small cotton safety cylinder.
Slim defence against the stiff pinch
of this cured golden Virginia weed,
an unassuming purveyor of need.
Two, perhaps three rolls, a quick fold,
a swift flick and a right to left lick
seals the gum on this deadly little jacket.
A scratched match flares, then smoulders.
Amber shadows glow and dim as I draw deeply.
Conjured ghostly tendrils entwine my mind.
Calmed, I succumb to the sinister delusion.
Blood vessels swell, circulation slows.
Numbness feathers into my toes.
Shrouded in an ashen wreath, whose wretched reek
Expelled through yellowing grey teeth
Signals to all I'm getting older.
The stubbed butt writhes, and hisses.
Snuffed amidst the remains of fallen comrades.
They will have vengeance. I will gasp
within a fetid fog, and curse
with a despairing final wheeze
a habit that began with such ease.
For gangrene, leukemia, stroke and emphysema
are but tools to torment we puffing fools.
True death is hidden in a thousand kisses.
Now I ask myself, "If that's what's to come,
what's the damn harm in just another one?".
And that thought, right there, that casual swear,
that's when they won.
_______________
I slip a paper from its trim packet.
Behind the nipped strands of nestled tobacco
I slide a cotton safety cylinder;
slim defence against the stiff pinch
of cured golden Virginia weed,
an unassuming purveyor of need.
Two, perhaps three rolls, quickly fold,
a swift flick and right to left lick
gums the seal on this deadly little jacket.
A scratched match flares, then smoulders.
Amber shadows dim and glow as I draw deeply.
Conjured ghostly tendrils entwine my mind.
Calmed, I succumb to the sinister delusion.
Vessels constrict, circulation slows,
numbness feathers into my toes.
Shrouded in an ashen wreath, a wretched reek
expelled through grey yellowing teeth
signals to all I'm getting older.
The stubbed butt writhes and hisses,
snuffed amidst the remains of fallen comrades.
They will have vengeance. I will gasp
in a fetid fog and curse
with a despairing final wheeze
this habit that began with such ease.
For splutters and chokes, heart attacks and strokes
are but torturous tools inflicted upon fools;
true death is delivered in a thousand kisses.
So I ask myself, "If that's what's to come,
where's the damn harm in just another one?".
That thought, right there,
that casual swear
is when they won,
and a scratched match flares.
Revision 2
The Cremator
I slip a paper from its trim packet,
and behind the nipped strands of nestled tobacco
I slide a small cotton safety cylinder.
Slim defence against the stiff pinch
of this cured golden Virginia weed,
an unassuming purveyor of need.
Two, perhaps three rolls, a quick fold,
a swift flick and a right to left lick
seals the gum on this deadly little jacket.
A scratched match flares, then smoulders.
Amber shadows glow and dim as I draw deeply.
Conjured ghostly tendrils entwine my mind.
Calmed, I succumb to the sinister delusion.
Blood vessels swell, circulation slows.
Numbness feathers into my toes.
Shrouded in an ashen wreath, whose wretched reek
Expelled through yellowing grey teeth
Signals to all I'm getting older.
The stubbed butt writhes, and hisses.
Snuffed amidst the remains of fallen comrades.
They will have vengeance. I will gasp
within a fetid fog, and curse
with a despairing final wheeze
a habit that began with such ease.
For gangrene, leukemia, stroke and emphysema
are but tools to torment we puffing fools.
True death is hidden in a thousand kisses.
Now I ask myself, "If that's what's to come,
what's the damn harm in just another one?".
And that thought, right there, that casual swear,
that's when they won.
_______________