a shell of a boy steps
out to greet the chill
seeking to be filled
he sits near a street light
but not too close, see
he goes at night
for the stars
his excuse is the cigar
he reaches for a light
and fills his lungs with tar

a small, filtered conduit
the moment slows and stops
he finds himself withdrawn from it
he doesn’t check his clock

time is a luminous ember
moving toward his finger
he decidedly remembers he
won’t try to make it linger

besides,
it’s long since he believed
he is ought but little more
than the smoke he breathes

a shell of a boy
steps inside
filled with smoke
but filled
nonetheless