The poem burns in the ashtray like
A reverse magnolia, opening, or closing turning black black gone and dead.

What do you expect from the
Fumes of an extingushed cigarette? A
Ballet of grey wisps seducing me like a drunken haze.

These are the words on a page,burning
Burning, ashes now.

The words recollecting a girl
Who only lived inside my eyes,
An imaginative delusion of what I was looking for,
Nothing more than a few nice words and
Fantasy.

I slumber now,while the
Words
Choke into
Ashes.

08/20/2009

Posted on 08/20/2009
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