Treasure Island

celine charcoal

(istanbul)

cigarettes


come and fill in my lungs
with the institutional snare
you idealogically knock me down whole
with the smoke it hails the nods
other wise tastes of tobacco
wouldn't be reinstating under your set
of blow ups.

(wow, I am such a great poet)

Submitted: Friday, August 17, 2007
Edited: Tuesday, March 29, 2011

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