The Smoker

The Smoker

Inside he was colors rippling,
Black and white on the out — 
The smoker, doomed survivor
Of nightclub weddings and deaths
And half-smiles, blows hotness
Into the city lights.

Aging ice into a rake of fire
Beneath the miracle ocher moon
Each hurried charge of rain
Makes sure to miss him,
His helicopter hair bulletproof,
And his monster truck limbs
Unheeded by the crowd.

And when the crowd drifts asleep,
From a fetish spire its heart dangled,
The walls that govern time
Grow superstar cold, of memory
Deprived — the man-shaped
Smoke of white and black
Not visiting, not away, not other.

Just smoke,
Just moving,
Just wishes.