Been Thinking

about picking up smoking
and leaving the butts
in a bucket outside,
around back.

Collect slow and sure
like a bad habit
or the roast of an
animal and its hide.

Been thinking about
drinking the road,
swerving the twin
lines, yellow and glowing.

Quick, slicked
rained concrete
on a cooler night
where stars scatter.

Been thinking about
fixed defeat,
built-in regrets
of the highest order.

And yet, I’ll breathe
through all of them
until my breath
is no more.



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