Saturday, March 8, 2008

six cigarettes

while my chafed hands
shook getting the key out
to enter the apartment
i noticed next to
the welcome mat
frozen beneath
water in a mop bucket
six cigarette butts
smoked a week ago
when we encountered
an evening of
mid-winter spring
& the wine flowed
& the smoke rose
beneath the thawing moon
but now they hang
suspended in ice
the glowing cherry embers
that moved through
the dark as we talked
& gesticulated
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.