Pyre Green

the smell of cigarette smoke
likes to follow me, can't leave me
it contorts my lies and wrings them
and knuckles knead and knead them
until the diaphragm hurts

thoracic cavity
cavity -
thoracic
grey ash flies along the night
smoked black
gummy tar
the need, the want
the need not to not want

it follows me
it sticks to me
it looks me in the eye so that I should not sleep
it speaks into my mind so that I should not think
it speaks of you, of
how you can already see
someone else in my skin

Of fairness

a poem of little worth is written
by the poet who refuses to
feel everything that they expressed


a poem of little worth is written
about someone who has not earned
the glory of being a muse


a poem of value
should only be born from
something strong
like moon light
like summer fruit
like anger, like hate
like euphoria.