Smoking is bad for you



I miss the room with orange walls

Behind the cloudy streams of white

Where painted pictures and the smell of books

Find refuge from the winter outside


I miss the short drives and cracked windows

Along shaded neighborhood streets

Where she plays a slow song from 1993

As we drift toward drugs


I miss mourning on the 16th floor lanai

Above sprawling streets and a sea of blue

Where the evening passed into the pack

and death was new to all of us


I miss nicotine fits triggered by passion

Behind pain and illusion of an elsewhere

That led here to restraint and self-management

So that paper can record feeling


I miss tracing the lines of skulls

While bumming “stoges” at shows

Where bodies and cannonballs in the polluted pool

Brought everyone closer together


I miss waiting for the end of the day

Where I met a few close friends

Outside the library, at the edge of the sidewalk

Smoking cigarettes against a shitty sunset


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