The Shape of Smoke

Smoke that rose from the chimney,
rose upwards, skywards.
The wind didn't carry it away
and rush it hither and thither.
It ascended, slowly to a height
and then slanted away;
obeying the wind.

The toy-train still runs on coal,
and gushes out ebony fumes
that soon lag behind the hurtling train.
Smoke sleaze the tender green leaves,
but the mountains are blessed with rain.

A smoker took a drag
and then tenderly let it go.
The white clouds distanced itself
graciously from her lips,
probably unwilling and aching.

There is smoke without fire,
and it hangs low
when it engulfs the stage
and makes actors look like gods
playing among the clouds.

broken pieces

There are two kinds of peace that is struck upon.
The first comes from knowing nothing. The other, from the profundity of your knowledge.
The latter is harder to come by but is impenentrable.

***************

the conscience and the libido are inharmoniously intertwined.
they come in each others path too very often.
you must have given up countless imbecile but prurient women in this conflict.

***********

A- where are you headed?
b- to meet the shadow of a unicorn by the lake.
C- it's night, there are no shadows. as if there were a unicorn to cast one.
b- i meet it at the bottom of the lake.
c- even if you sink like a dense stone you'd long run out of breath before you hit the bottom.
b- that is my concern. why are you entertaining ants in your pants. i'm getting late anyways.
i'd arranged to get there by this hour yesterday but i've been annoyed a lot enroute. ( B leaves)
a- it's a pity. he used to be a masterful writer but lately he's got entangled in madness.
if it wasn't for our love of him when he used to be sane.....he'd be long outcast.
the pursuits of the mind open doors smack-at-the-center of bedlamism.
sooner or later you take that door which interminably beckons.
c- you are beginning to talk like an intellectual dolt yourself. you are headed his way i guess.
don't be foolish. let's get lost in the ways of this world.

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I wear my heart on my sleeves, or so i believe. what if the sleeves are rolled and i don't have much of a heart.
the reason why i don't wear a full-sleeve is becauese i fear my heart may roll down into somenoe else's palm when i
capriciously shake a hand. chances are it won't be returned.
and i most definetely don't pin up pride on my nose. i don't like to carry a mountain at that tender spot.
never have i been blinded by love. i've only been more vigil and keen when i stepped into that bog.
it is more like wearing shades under the searing sun. it doesn't make me go weak in the knees (thanks to aerobics and cardio)

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I, without a change, always have horrible nightmares. my dreams do not reflect the euphemism of the word.
Horrid, sullen events and situations always weave their own settings under my eyelids. once i dreamed of a fucking-fat (euphemism) woman trying to force herself on me.
i was helpless and let her have the time of her life. in another, a rat constantly gnawed on my toes and no matter how hard i jerked my annoyed feet, i couldn't loose it.
in another masterpiece i was being shredded into smithereens by the talons of vultures, eagles, working in an unbelieve tandem.
These and many others have tormented my peace for aeons in retrospect.
it was my objective to 'fix-up' a dream that i could bear with and always have.
the idea was akin to the concept of a screensaver that takes over the desktop screen when you have neglected work for ample time.
the turbulence in my sleep left me better off when i was awake. Nothing worked. i had to find peace within the chaos.