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March |
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a poem by Rob Plath (1 of 2)
chainsmoking in the wee hours
the cold wind blows my smoke up
into the dark december sky
for some men this is the first
night after their death
a night they almost stayed alive for
this triggers me to light another cigarette
off of the previous one & then another
i'll be chainsmoking into the wee hours
i refuse to neglect common phenomena:
the night, the stars, the wind
the idea drives me into pure obsession...
to take the pulse of every second tonight!
do you ever get this way?
maybe if we all did this, we'd really
"suck the marrow" out of all this
instead of just sleepwalking through it
into the dark december sky
night after their death
a night they almost stayed alive for
off of the previous one & then another
the night, the stars, the wind
to take the pulse of every second tonight!
"suck the marrow" out of all this
instead of just sleepwalking through it