My Life As a Smoke Ring
With a nice cigar
I blow a perfect smoke ring,
And the ring holds briefly.
I consider that focus of energy--
The snapping of my jaw.
The ring succumbs to the evening:
Hard-edged blue smoke
Burns off the hot stick end
Soft volumes of gray puffed circles
Spew forth as the moment calls
To live out their perfect circle lives
Then be annihilated
Unnoticed
By mere confusions
In the cool night breeze
I consider my House
Pieces of life drawn together
Of more dynamic forces.
Energies which held together Home
Decay
In the same way the smoke ring is gone.
Copyright © Dalton Moss | Year Posted 2019
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