Leaves are falling all around me,
containing such color and beauty.
The smell of the air is crisp,
Like dew on mountain trees.

The temperature outside decreasing,
As does my care in the world,
When I'm drawing smoke,
from such tobacco that is sweet.
It is now my favorite season.
A season I have branded "Pipe Season".

A pipe made of corn,
A heart made from passion.
A hobby I consider gold.
I'll continue to love this pipe of mine,
Until I'm eighty years old.

Rich clouds drawn from flaming leaves,
Leaves seasoned like cucumbers resting in salted vinegar.
The chilled breeze of Autumn flows smoothly,
With my vanilla flavored taste buds.

An odor like heaven enters my nose,
I grow fond of my handheld chimney,
Sitting at my palm as I admire it as a work of art.
Surpassing the Sistine Chapel,
Through my teak colored eyes.

Now I feel that Autumn is here,
This pipe has inspired it's elegance.
But what will become of it when the Winter arrives?
This moment will eventually end,
I fear.

they know
where tobacco grows
and why I
forgot to put down the pants
I heard
the drowning underwater
I afraid
whether the outer limit
gets closer
I never
put any elbow
in it
to play with water
to add some fire
and as a last caress
against the dark halfdom of space
I'll do my best
watch celestial bodies
and say I've seen it thousand times
I ought to guide you
toward necropolis
because I have two missed calls
both yours

He was all tattoos,
And cigarette breath - knocked down,
Drowned beneath his charm.

Beggars line the busy streets
cup and cloth outstretched
the look of desperation etched on their faces
like the dawn shadow of a carved lithograph

they don't ask me for spare change
just a simple nod of acknowledgement;
even after a shower and a change of clothes
I must have their look, that broken beaten look
the look of the street.

George Square is busy today
tourists happy clicking panoramic memories
admiration of forced foolish bravery at the Cenotaph
a list of names they will never know
and marvel at the antiquated architecture
to later revel in the wonderment of how anyone
in a civilised and modern society can do without skyscrapers
while they grudgingly share a half-measure of a single malt

I sit on a bench that marks a families love and remembrance
to the passing of a woman named Judith
the pigeons flock in carnal mass gatherings
knowing I've been there for 3 hours already
because I have the look of someone who hides his crusts
because I have the hungry eyes of the look of the street.

The well dressed man at the end of the alleyway,
the plume of carcinogen cigar smoke
like a coal fired power station  in the sunlight
this is where they go for over-priced craft ales
with Sautéed Wild Rabbit starter and £65 Wagyu Tomahawk Steak
a place for fine pickings in the alleyway ashtrays
dispensed cancer sticks left disregarded
the half-finished defiance of another £9 packet
that was simply spare change to begin with

I hover around making false promises on a deadline phone call
pretending in mime to be semi-OK
that the compadres are running late
and "tell me about the theatre show later"
the misdirection amid the camouflage of plastic peace lilies
while my other hand rummages the unspent tobacco
and the black-on-black door steward keeps clocking me
because I have the look of the street.

I light a cigarette and cross my legs, eyes boring into his neck where a midnight shade of purple resides, just below where I once kissed.
A new smell of feminine wishes hangs in the air between us. And I know now, you can ****** someone without the use of any weapons. Death comes easy with even the most subtle breaking of a heart. -DDF

Trying to Breathe**

I'm sure when my Mom brought me into this world,
She would have never imagined I would have done something so stupid.
That day 1964 is still clear as hell..blowing clouds of "killa" with my very first smoke.
Kissed my first girl and smoked my first cigarette all on the sameday..Milestone..NOT
Nothing but a cool fool...So Cool.....My *** was frosted over!

This COPD death sentence reeks of a smell you never get rid of.
Shallow strained breathing keeps time with syncopated heart beats.
And if your a smoker my friend I know this message is gonna get your attention.
Let the message sink in and swirl around your head like those clouds of "killa".
And remember this................

"You can't delete racism. It's like a cigarette, you can't stop smoking if you don't want to and you can't delete racism if people don't want to. But I'll continue do everything I can to help!"

-K.E. Carman 2015