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Smoke Screen


Your smoke is generous
You combust in white clouds
Driftwood escapes your nostrils

An alveolus puffs like a fungus
Curling the smoke into anemones
Sifting the open sea

Someone said your lungs are made
Into hard, tarred back alleys
Immortalised by a gene

When your hot smoke breaks
Into the back of my throat blood runs
Backwards craving oxygen

Smoke dumbs its way through you
So cool and cool as devil's fingers
Blowing its rings like marriage vows

When I get home that night
My clothes taste like cotton kippers
Charred tobacco kissing me goodnight


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001