Smoky...

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265 words
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Its just the smoke
got in my eyes again,
that's all...

Amazing how memories crowd
close - mainly at night,
when you're too tired
to think - let alone remember.
Yet we always seem to
remember at night.

Is it that the darkness
is such the board for posting
all the scripts and scraps -
each a particular instant
forgotten but now remembered,
to relive
all over again?

The smoke still eddies here -
flowing round and around
spirals drawing closer -
closer still - damn,
got me again.

Memories aren't hurtful -
least of themselves,
its we who tag and label
and point as to which is which -
and when which is which
for the which and the when
change you know...
always does.
All those tags and labels -
indelible-eraseable 'magic'
marker marked.

I'm the coldest,
most heartless bastard
ever born -
and cats follow me home
and dogs sleep at my feet.

I fix - things,
ruin things, change -
still other things...
all that make the world
a different place than I found.
I help, hurt, listen, see,
await, and do...
and live -
and still 'see' the night
in the day -
the dark of the light,
a mid-winter summer's day.

Eyes really, really sting -
smoke is just so thick -
tonight - hanging suspended,
mottling the air
with its gray-blue bands.

Its strange how the tears
just drift down - flow,
fall, then puddle...
how the breathing is so short
and catches,
how the center hurts.

But its just the smoke...
just the smoke -
that's all.

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