A puff of cigar in, mist, out
on the street, shrouding the
tracks and missed heart aches;

this morning, time,
is not kept by the ticking clock.

Only one vehicle has crossed the road.

Mellow sun warming up the snow
forever burying the tracks out;

The stubble's scruffy, and heart,
as dishevelled as the sheets;

Empty cups, full of memories -
and stained of the night's wine;

In the corners the embers still crackle:

leaning back on ease chair,
wondering
who it was that left early
this misty morning;

I'm so bad the Devil warned me that if ever he sees me in Hell again, he'll call the police on me.

Take a little
puff, puff,
before you
pass, pass
judgment.

© Matthew Harlovic

Slap da bass right up mon.
Slap da bass down low now.
Bump ya sweet ting a little closa.
I just wanna get to know ya.

Gettin' all blem on ya vibes.
You gettin' knocked down by mine.
Bend down, turn 'round, back it up right.
Wanna puff what I'm puffin' all night.

Me nose burns with wit smoke.
Me body's empty, waiting for ya touch.
The bass is slammin' in me ear drums.
The bass slappin' makes me face numb.

Beat poundin' as I slide over
Boombastic rydems like no otha'.
You da noicest ting I ever did see.
Lemme take ya home. Slap da bass wit me.

*Slap it riiiiiight up

Colorado,Colorado,
I wish I was in Colorado.
Where  puffers stand in line
to have a good-old-time.

I wish you were in Colorado
and puff away your blues,
and have a restful snooze.

Where people laugh
out loud and make their puffers' cloud.

And people stop and stare
into thought provoking air,
and talk about the deeper things
in life.

Sensuous summer fills
my mind
between my munchies
all the time.
My tastebuds shout in glee
with popcorn near my reach
and soda made of peach.

Colorado, Colorado,
I hear you callin' me
forget about that tree
of good and evil be.
And smoke away-at times-
those nasty nursery rhymes
cramped between
folders made of black.

Colorado,Colorado,
I wish I was in Colorado
to get a mountain high.
Where puffers' stand in line
to have a good-old-time...

Since not allowed to light
we're allowed to write:
"Let the **** reign forever"

She envied the way
He talked to the saleslady
Asking her for a pack
Trying to charm her in every way.

She loathed the way
He used to puff smoke from his mouth
Smiling at the passers-by
In front of the hallway.

She hid his ashtray
In the bottom of the top drawer
He searched for it
From corner to corner.

She went away
Carrying her suitcase
Never left a word
When she knew
He had found the ashtray.

She’s gone for a week,
But three knocks came
From the front door
He thought it was her
But it was never.

She wrote him a letter,
The mailman said
Handed it to him
Along with an urn.

She said in the letter
She breathed
Every smoke he blew
And now,
She turned into
Like that powder in gray
On the ashtray.

My daddy always told me
I would catch my hair
with flames.

I bow down to the
little black toaster;
praising his holy name.

Oh! Let me give thanks,
little black toaster,
for you have now fulfilled my every need.

I huff and puff
on filter stem;
hijacked cigarette now all mine.