Outside reeks of cigarette smoke.
All of it.
The arthritic air and the black smudge trees
The fluctuating spaces between people
Walking hard and fast.
Snowflakes drop like fragments of ash
Tapped resolutely from the end of a Marlboro Red
Gusting in the cough of a tired wind.
Like the world is an ashtray with cigarette butt buildings
And in all our love and losing, we all are slowly dying
From cancer of the heart and lungs.
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