Cigarette
By Kerenza Ryan Posted in Poetry on July 27, 2016 0 Comments 1 min read
Podcast <i>Bricolage</i>? Previous <i>Rocket Girls</i> Next

When He began creating
Billows of dark clouds
I assumed His perceptions must be
The eye of the storm.

I couldn’t yet see
That the Hurricane would whip away
His baby fat and leave him
Sniffling, nose bloodied by the Wind

Now it’s easy to lose
The baby boy
In the Cloud of Smoke
As he consumes It
And It, him.


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