walls leaning in
the room small
barely any room at all
a candle
whiskey bowl
and cigar
smoke filled the room
like a jar
flying in my chair
no clue
how long
how far
time circled the room
like a loud race car
the noise slows down
smoke hugs still on the floor
turning cold
like a burned out
whiskey soaked cigar
This makes me think of a journey of the soul perhaps in the ethereal plane? Or maybe a moment of just being in the moment, like meditation. Anyhow. I like the different pictures painted by your words. Well done.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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