Rubbed into the depths,
a forest of broken bark,
resting and still burning
a cigarette
The butt of the cigarette
the only place
to escape
fibers of the
heavy hushed secrets
A woman pulls
in the fumes
once more
before
drowning it in
a hallow ash
tray
Like looking inside
a vein once
flooded in crimson
now echoing the
laughter of life
A cigarette is
a neighbor of
hardened gum
pounded and pushed,
flattened in the
traffic of hurried
feet
Feeling as
though it is
stuck here
turning the depths
of itself green
longing to be a
button
Stretch out
the thickening
walls which
guard the soul
curve them
without disturbance
until the ends of
them kiss
hold fast to
the flame
A battle cry
in the
heavens
victory is webbing
and fragile
The cigarette butt
remains silent
to the ears
of its sibling
proving its
promise
sorrows remain
protected
Buried beneath
hidden almost
yet completely
noticed
in the dirt,
a rotting garden
