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Of Rum and Nicotine

by David R Spellman

 
Bacardi spills
across the page
tainted in nicotine stains
a caustic acid
eating away
at the softness that matters
no more
letting rough lines
and sharpened curves
become a mocking etch
on cold pressed wood.
 
Red-eyed fingertips
trying to claw below the surface
a persistent itch
which can’t be denied attention
always there
always aching
always wanting to be freed.
 
Let me smoke it out
intoxicate it until
it spreads itself thin
thin enough to be plied
into something recognizable
a legible moment
scraped from the marrow
of consciousness.
 
Tomorrow
I can collect the shreds
roll them with morning dew
set them afire
and watch the smoke rise
an oblation to signal
that I must start again.
 
 
 

12/04/2006

Posted on 07/27/2007
Copyright © 2019 David R Spellman

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 07/27/07 at 05:29 PM

wow:

Tomorrow
I can collect the shreds
roll them with morning dew


This poem is a vivid experience. I taste and smell with it; I haunt with it. Fine poem!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/27/07 at 06:37 PM

Hmmm, this is a painful look at the poetic experience digging to express itself, but brilliantly shared inspite of the red-eyed fingertips and the desire to smoke it out. This one burns brightly of its own.

Posted by Mara Meade on 07/27/07 at 09:37 PM

Tomorrow I can collect the shreds roll them with morning dew set them afire and watch the smoke rise an oblation to signal that I must start again.

It's all potent, David, but that last verse says it all.

Tomorrow.

Indeed. Tomorrow.

Excellent. You nailed it.

Posted by Charles E Minshall on 12/21/07 at 03:30 AM

Smoke signals from the page......Charlie

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