1.26.2009
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Hoping To God That He Speaks In Smoke Signals
Smoke, Stars, God
I lay on cold, unrepentive
pavement, whispering prayers
to the stars as if they were god
and not just part of God. They
flicker as if humbly replying.
But- I wonder-
maybe they’re just dying-
Nights like this,
the first cold chill
of a dead summer, can only be
warmed by lit cigarettes.
The cold burns my bones
and the smoke blinds my eyes;
Such is transition-
Only the past, the whole past,
presents itself here; More
dangerous than the burning
chemicals I inhale, more
beautiful than second hand
smoke-
As I lay, I think of how
many others are doing the same
thing; Failing to live in the
present knowing there is a future-
How many others are feeling
this first chill that forgets fall,
stinging like winter- How
many others stars are collapsing
as they hope to God, speaking
in smoke signals-
pavement, whispering prayers
to the stars as if they were god
and not just part of God. They
flicker as if humbly replying.
But- I wonder-
maybe they’re just dying-
Nights like this,
the first cold chill
of a dead summer, can only be
warmed by lit cigarettes.
The cold burns my bones
and the smoke blinds my eyes;
Such is transition-
Only the past, the whole past,
presents itself here; More
dangerous than the burning
chemicals I inhale, more
beautiful than second hand
smoke-
As I lay, I think of how
many others are doing the same
thing; Failing to live in the
present knowing there is a future-
How many others are feeling
this first chill that forgets fall,
stinging like winter- How
many others stars are collapsing
as they hope to God, speaking
in smoke signals-
2 comments:
Stealing ideas is an art, stealing ideas well is a fine art.
wow. cool. authentic theft should be a career.
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