Wolf and the Owl
Poetry, Lyrics, Translations
and Musings by Alex Etchart

Smoke Trail

By on Wednesday 23rd November, 2011

that’s the sound of my heart wheezing
that’s the sound of my veins throbbing
that’s the moisture of the wailing rain
and that’s the patter of my thoughts sobbing

self mutilation down to a fine art
mastered by the masses whilst miles apart
“addiction”, “addiction” their silently cry
knowing well how
but lacking well why

perhaps its a distraction from chronic monotony
preferring to toke
but never to see
academic studies of bodies inside
brains fully functioning
organs fried

rasping along at the depths of my voice
trying to decide whether its truly choice
that governs the return to the inhaleable tide
of throats paying penance and embers running wild

too many hours I gave to this drug
it beckons me with imagery of the braindead snug
turned into years reduced to a snail
euthanasia of the altruist’s reason-carved trail.

born and bred to tear apart
curdle the milk and soil the bread
counter evolution, reduce to a bark
a timely revolution the denialist said

from the greek conception of the flawless physique
instead becomes glorified waste between the weak
chancing, trying to redefine the pearly gates
they reduce us to the ‘alternative lifestyle’ we seek.

Posted in: Poems, Uruguay

Blog owner, singing/strumming person, word speaker, community arts make-happen-er, eco-baby.


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