Tar in your lungs. Black slime mistake from the pull on a cigarette more than once a day adds up. Pack a day won’t take it away. The smell and the stinks stops being temporary. Tar in your lungs. When your cut them up in post-mortem operation table, they are like alien scar tissues. Bright light and scalpels over a cadaver. Formaldehyde stink, the kind you never forget. Like being in science class and dissecting pigs, frogs, and cats. Extra credit opportunities I refuse to take advantage of. Tar in the brain. Gets everywhere like cancer. Pollution in peril. Sometimes it’s urgent. Paving the blacktop with cigarette smoke. Smooth over the cracks with a Virginia Slim. Stop the leak in the boat with a cigar. Fancy box below the golden foil wrapping. Milk chocolate daydream desire. When you take a bite into it, it’s just disappointing and regretful. I almost took a pull of a cigarette once. But it’s a long, weird story that exists best as this avant-garde memory from over 10 years ago. Blowing smoke out a window and living like heathens.
Roe Knows Best 