Like a sea serpent into wafting drafts,
Like blood-red coals into ashen dust.
Clouds of liquid smoke crest from my lungs.
The clouds in the azure sky are mirrored,
Breathing thoughts through my head.
I sit in my lazy chair,
Smoking a cigarette,
Watching the volcanic clouds
Of dust spin in dirt-devils,
Settling in the filling ashtray
Of the incarnate day.
I have had that thing for fifteen years.
--Lee Ann Wilson
Joseph G. Wilson's poems have appeared in The Cooper Point Journal, Arnazella, Slightly West, and Between the Lines. He lives in the Seattle area.
Post a Comment