Follow this poem as it escapes my lips, smoke from a swisher. Follow before it disappears, slithers away into thin silky threads. Follow the mass, the transparent cloud. It’ll take you somewhere far from here, far from what you deemed necessary long ago, the pointless **** that drives your wandering mind, the pit opening up again within and underneath and above you, crushing you, making you less of what you are, less of your baser self. Follow this poem as it coincides with the wings of bats beating above your shallow head. Follow their darkness as they hide in barn nooks. Let them graze the tips of your dried draught grass hair, carry you away, and dissipate with the smoke.