The whole house smells like
a canopy of smoke. My body
smells like smoke.
Sometimes it feels like smoke,
about to waft away.
Often, I feel grounded, so focused
on my fears and perceived
inadequacies that it is hard to feel
tethered. I like the word tethered
and use it often in my work.
This image of being strapped
down reminds me of the free form
art the smoke seems to take
when emerged from the spark-end
of the cigar. It’s a celebratory
moment and the wisp of carcinogen
shows no fear.
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