Chain-smoking
In an
Old cemetery,
Full moon
Low at your
Back-
Traffic a dull
Snarl
Beyond the
Gates,
You don’t
Care
Who sees
You,
Cigarette
A dull orange
Star among
The shadows.

Stones
And monuments
Lean
Forgotten,
Dates washed
Away by
Countless rains,
All younger than
You-
Some
You might
Have known,
Not that it
Matters-
You and
Your kind
Continue
As the wind,
In the corner
Of Man’s eye,

A lighter’s click,
A final breath-
Smoke delicate
Upon the
Breeze-
You could
Linger,
But hunger
Calls,
Sending you
Past
Rusting gates
That weren’t
There
When you
Were
Young.