Smoke Rolls,

I know that.

I see from the left and the right and the center

Where it climbs over everything that can’t be had

By hands

Or by fingertips

Or

L o n g

Forgotten signals

Of the calling machine;

Underneath the seat

-Where my brain sits.

                               These things happen

Smoke: the unaccounted for

And uncontrolled

In the Universe.

They appear left and right and center

-If they are seen like they’d like to be.

But the smoke’s indifference puts to rest

Every iron

Of astute assumption

In the vein of knowing.

Bent around my hands and still ascending

a-w-a-y

from where my breath and my eyes and my words go.

I don’t take it personally.

Through windows

You can hear the scientists gathered

-They are manic

Tossed hands raised up

And palms to the sky

They are reciting old prayers and incantations.

They are guessing.

They told me there are 53BILLIONPLANETSINTHEGALAXY

They told me not to take life so personally,

They told me to smoke-

Because the Universe needs more carbon

And the typewriter is out of ribbon,

And the ribbon is out of ink.

Don’t take it personally. 

Photo by Randy Conner. Words by Justin David Koontz.