Transparent Words - Poetry

 

 

Sky-High  

by Chris Major

 

The one light in the dark room

was like a firefly flitting from lip to lip,

leaving light-headed faces

floating in thick puffs of acrid smoke.

That one light always stopped

for longest and drew closest to your lips.

Closer and closer,

closer and closer

until your brain caught-

burnt with solutions to

problems now attracted, moth-like,

to tatter life's fabric.

 

You still suck the smoke rope,

and hope it wraps around

mental cogs to slow you down,

happy until later, when no

longer 'relaxed' your mind narrows,

and forces you through some

channel to the next hit.

After one of which I saw

you in the middle of town,lying down,

dressed in leather and mirror shades,

senseless,

mind gone-

eyes opening on sky and clouds.