Then just when it shouldn't
everything is as it should be.
the last drop of wine falls into my cup
the ash falls perfectly from the end of the cigar
and the all the pieces fall neatly into place

smoke til it burns your eyes
drink til it makes you drunk
read until you cry or sleep
whichever comes first that night

I turn the cigar on its end, and hold it level with my eyes
I watch the fire inside the ash
burning child in a smoking grey womb
nine minute months of smoke and ash
a gestation of cancerous joy
and think
while the smoke hangs in the air
like a couple of ghosts with nowhere to go
about the day
and learning how to sleep again

the cigar's gone out
and that was the last drink of wine
but the jazz rolls on
and the night rolls on
and there will always be more poetry to read
now its goodnight all, goodnight

AcB 04.16.01