Free Verse-ish

Let it be known, I hate writing free-verse with a burning passion. But, when a poem calls, I must write it. This is a collection of such poems.

(Rating for eventual language.)


13. Trece

When he smokes, he's

Beautiful. His lips

Curl around the cigarette like

He's holding a secret, and

The only thing

Stopping him from telling

The world

Is  the four inches

Of cancer holding

It in. When he takes

A drag, he tilts

His head upward and

Watches the end burn

With hollow eyes. When

He blows out the

Smoke, it's as if he's saying

Goodbye. He's poetry when

He smokes, and I wonder

Who was the poet that

Created something so sad

And so lovely.

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