they say that god wants us to be dust
but i can’t believe that’s true
i’ve always thought of a cigarette as a bet
can you breathe in its dissolution
without becoming its demise?
on the sidewalk, cracking like
the bedraggled earth , where
all the gum becomes gray eventually
but the orange rims still shine
and remind you of the sunrise
you blocked out with your laughter

the sky on a ***** day in the city
that never sleeps or snubs
(or chokes on its own spit)
almost looks like a drag
from a set of charred lips
and your body, i’m sorry to say,
looked like an ashtray to me