broken mirror

codeine thickens the fog
the city wears a skin of rain
menthol nicotine eats holes in the tissue
theology occupies love's normal spaces
politics hides words
in places soon to be explored
old friends live on mars
having lost these maps

I am not sad, nor keen
the definitions multiply
the borders
beyond the possible interface
poems splice the weeks
photographs echo the car wrecks
it comes to me:
magic is desire

shadows of the winds tracing topography
like fingers across her flesh, an ordinary
sweet design the day sees its image
in a broken mirror

is there someone else in there
with me?

I smoked benson and hedges menthol cigarettes for maybe twenty some odd years. This piece also mentions the keye luke sequence. There is the concern for cartography. Also the sense of loss is presented as an average understanding. I have long felt that the price of consciousness is the ability to mourn.