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I pull this smoke to feel at ease, An artificial comforting disease Created in my mind as a reprieve During intervals between hoe and heave. I work for a boss who doesn’t know my name Slaving on an oven that hardens my frame. For the almighty dollar I twist and toil Taking not fruit but minerals from the soil. All in all it’s no secret I grow cold To the danger of my actions grown bold, Mallet on mallet I’m blind beyond the hilt, Scraping the slag with a straw, swallowing the silt.

Smoky Thoughts

I consume this empire in every breath, But it consumes me less and less. -MMF