fan spins smoke
into an eye far
off
on another
subject
wild thoughts
he can’t say
though he may try
too hard and
fall
so many hours
until then
there will be moments
not believing
he will make
Friday will
arrive
far away with
smiles
impatience
doesn’t help
when the smoke
clears
he lights
another
doesn’t even
want to deal
games friends
play
more smoke
taking a ride
on the fan of
conversation
where has
everyone disappeared to
this place used
to be busy
and he sits
alone
as the waitress
tries to talk to him
he stares into
his mind
opening it up
onto these pages
ink stained
reminders
of his brother
the man in the
hills
standing in the
garden of the gods
coming as close
as anyone could
he sees him in
the sunset
and the ‘carneys’
start to invade
the city dirty
and the smoke
won’t clear…
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