Smoke pours from my crown in the form of conscious thought.
Smoke pours from my lips in the form of a lit cigarette.
Bend in thin alleys and alcoves.
Closed storefronts and bright sparkling coffee shops.
Open the notebook and fall from the world into oblivion.
My mind becomes looped in interest,
In the way graphite melds with the white pulp of paper.
In the forming of the letter O
Clockwise vs. counter.
“Operator- can you help me?”
The Grateful Dead in my ears.
The caffeine in my bloodstream:
Oily and clear as Micah enforced by a blue riverbed.
Hot and black as coal endorsed by a green mermaid.
A vowel is a skeleton key.
There’s a distracting mechanism on the apple wood table.
Named after a fruit.
Named after temptation.
Show me an array of
Faces and undocumented news.
An endless dictionary, thesaurus, and encyclopedia within my pocket.
Keep the Grateful Dead singing American Beauty.
Connect me with voices wherever we stand if I happen across your thoughts.
I feed its electricity
That glow won’t fade away.
The snow begins to swirl brick streets.
The people seek shelter.
Warmth from radiator or alcohol.
Close the notebook, stop drawing letters.
Cap that billowing smoke stack with a black Red Sox hat.
I take advantage of the weather
Move toward work.