I Cringe When the Smoke Comes
I cringe when the smoke comes
Of the crippled boy leaning on the ground
Creeping toward the sounds
Of the birds of love, celebrating
A cremation party with bounce.
I cringe when the smoke comes
To the hardy knight’s pout
Under the hyena’s slurping sounds,
To the immolated pigeon on the ground.
I cringe when the smoke comes
When a holy page burns
Bunches of lilacs and roses.
And I cringe and cringe
Whenever the smoke comes!
|