Joseph G. Wilson - One Poem

Smoking

Smoke-strand-snake dances,
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.