Skywards
Unpronounceable, or perhaps simply unknown, for now I’ll call you,
“Man-With-Pipe”.
Another unknown; due to underexposure, or perhaps prudence,
Is of what he, “Man-With-Pipe”, that is, smokes?
The first wisps of fragrant clouds sashay skywards, tangoing with cross-breezes;
New generations of wisps follow in their withering ancestor’s path,
They too will dissiapte, as I understand it, perhaps reaching thier promise land,
Perhaps not.
“Man-With-Pipe” is nonplussed with this seemingly shallow existence, of which he initiates.
I stare at him, Man-With-Pipe, while I think of HIM;
Yet another name unknown, fostered by ignorance and fear, or perhaps simply unacknowledged;
Self righteous indignation? My nonconformity–
There is someone moving behind me!
With breath strictly held I turn from HIM to face whomever, or whatever, is lurking behind my back.
Strange… No one is there. I could’ve sworn…
Free from my incessant attention I hear a massive exhale;
ahhHHHHHhhhhhh…
And with that my journey begins.
