Reflections in the basin

Smoke billows off the edge, suffocate.

Easing brain not to remember grave.

Mind turns on turbine above flame,

Inhaled, then exhaled mist of dead restraint.

Slow drip down throat hovering

Above latrine, sometimes bleeding,

Sometimes breath evades.

Washed away by white nicotine

Streams, current's repetition

Sustained by grievance.

Floating atop each choke,

Slippery and yellow.

Thoughts about

One lung left

To fail in frail

Last attempts

At breath.

But to no avail...

Control still folds,

Over the bowl

In this Funeral hall.

Inhale, exhale

Discard the

Cigarette

With a hiss

Into mirror liquid.

Then walk

Back to mourn

The dead.

-Anthony Giallanza

©6/15/99

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