deepundergroundpoetry.com

And still I smoke..

I heave my laden weary chest up yonder hill
And still I smoke
Morning coffee compliments my throat and blood
And still I smoke
To be anonymously glazed by city smog
And still I smoke
We find comradeship and solidarity in damp and draughty doorways
And still I smoke
Bereft of unfettered air
And still I smoke
We reek of ale and stench of toil
And still I smoke
Which of the thousands of Gods that we have spawned can save me?
Pick and mix and mix and pick
And still I smoke
My dying breath on autumn dusk
And still I smoke
I ponder on which god to choose
And still I smoke
Written by Kropotkin (Ian baxter)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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