Poem 235

I never lived with anyone who smoked like this – I was thinking of someone I might have made the concession for …

( Michaelangelic is a great word – I invented it … )

You Smoke Too Much

Sometimes I think it isn't sin
we live in
but a yellow cloud of headaches
and heartbeats
shortness of breath

on the side of the bed in the morning
a cripple assembling 
his crutches
your white blue Michaelangelic 
arm raises
                   and settles
on your matches