The Last Cigarette

silent footfalls echo on the road,

trains splash in an aquablue sky,

my mind is the colour of lead

and i have smoked my last cigarette.

dreamland, dreamscape, dreamthrum..
.
"hold me tight," she cried

so i turned a quizzical eye to the screen.

sulphur burns illuminate our bodies

i like the smell, i like the smell.

is that an oil slick in the corner, brother?

my arm trembles as i touch your hair

knots wrap around my fingers.


we shoot beer bottles in the afternoon sun

practising for when the budweiser blimp arrives

but traffic comes before that.

i duck and twist and weave and turn,

rest the ladder against the mountain,

but this narrow opening cannot squeeze me through.

i need a helping hand

to bellyflop into the shimmering pool,

to slip into this snakeskin tailcoat.

copper runs down the sleeves

but my mind is the colour of lead,

and i have smoked the last cigarette.