the downside of having quit smoking:
the lamb is sheered...
the lamb is skinned -
obviously crucified prior...
the lamb is cured - the lamb is
either poached or grilled...
one is expected to choke on an
artefact of bone like it were
some forbidden fruit...
      the downside of having quit smoking...
the brain says to the mind:
i'm not the old, usual-"self" we used
to share: it's not suffocating enough...
there was once a thrill...
a screeching and a scratching...
a drowning man hanging to dear
life while clinging to a razor-blade...
summer is coming with a bazar
of scents and other accents: colour...
it comes to change my skin from
pale porky pink to...
imitation greek or roman...
     yet i have no desire to despair
and write: how i don't hug and hello...
overtly-draw-lines-of-emphasis
of touchy-feely...
              i came to know...
rubbing my hands on gravestones
to be... a lost chisel: an "angry" spark...
        and when so many people have
been left in a limbo of a loss...
   their nostalgia is... a buttoned-up shirt
and a bow-tie noose...
some idle formality missing...
    i've sacrificed the suffocating brain...
the mind no longer loans itself
to a labyrinth of minstrel pressures...
there was never a rhyme...
   nor was there, really: in all honesty...
an estate to mind in up-keeping...
for whatever this was ever worth...
         all the better for it...
i hope the 81 year old oak of a man
doesn't pull the plug and bends his
one good knee and makes it justifiable
to have himself an exit...
otherwise all those words of wisdom
about how he quit smoking...
how... he should see how that i too could
quit... but that i didn't spawn
any great grandchildren: for him...
                             well... safe a bet without
competition: his son was also
put under the pressure to leave him
post-scriptum remains akin
to my tier of passing time...
         such old expectations...
that the father expects a son to leave
him grandchildren...
   that a grandchild is to leave him
great-grandchildren...
        i just picked up a cigerette...
burned the tree... left a stump:
         an ***** studded ****...
                             i welcome: a new affair
of breathing... and re-fathoming the intricacies
of a resurrected palette.

p.s. i guess that's like...
an inversion / antithesis of the butteryfly effect...
which... in a universe built
on paradoxes and vacuous growths of dreams
for sputnik showdowns...
as ever: the terrible has already
happened...
   i was never late to the party...
i wasn't going to a party...
                    but... beside: with or
without my consent... the party rages.