It's Not Lost On Me

as the plucking continues

Shimmering in waves.

In the comfort of sounds there is

No bind

Merely pencil and paper.

The irony is not lost, as

Fault lines

cracks appear

casting shadow

of doubt, of dis integrity.

Filter cigarettes

and assumptions,

thoughtless deeds derive deeper meaning

incarcerated lungs, docile bodies.

Imagine images

and see them

from here

Tabled separation blurs the view,

But she's not looking anyways.

Originally written on a cigarette box