Reflections on tobacco
I’ve been occupying myself with novel things so I don’t have to think.
I’m gracious, I stopped smoking cigarettes
I didn’t smoke them because they made me feel good; I’d go out for the brief “thinking hour,” the time I had with myself.
And if someone was smoking with me, I was still swimming somewhere near the branches of the distances pointing inward of my mind. Swimming in circles. Taking private jet planes.
I think of picking the habit up again (foolish) just to rest my leg on the side of a closed storefront and come to terms with what is and what was.
I can do that now, if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. Mold like clay. Sweet summer’s day.
I hope I don’t meet anyone who smokes soon.
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