He Smokes Cigarettes

He smokes standing next to trash cans
Behind his apartment
Outside of bars
In friends’ back yards
He laughs a wild laughter
Like the child of a gypsy king
And his eyes come sparkling after
He drives on empty highways at night
Following a beacon of light called home
And he smokes cigarettes out the window
While Run DMC plays on the radio
And he sleeps on the floor most of the time
Cradled in blankets and bottles of wine
And sleep comes fitful in the night
And sometimes he yells in his sleep
And he knows how to play every game
With a skill that could make him a master
But when push comes to shove
The labor of love that began at the end would not last
For the heat of the sun
And the clang of the bells
Send writing up the spines of children
And fathers and mothers
And jails
And tiny purple shells
Encase the hearts of those who wait
Who give love time to calcify
Around its fate
He walks in two worlds
And he hides behind curtains
And he carries the world on his back
And he crawls like a snail
Who is soft on the inside
And his cigarettes help him exhale

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About audreyryan

semi-pro rogue theatre critic
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