Day in. Day out. Day in. Day out.

Same cigarette to the lips. Same time. Same place.

A human clock for the work week.

*

All converge here for some reason, one would venture to guess.

Reasonably, paths cross. Path can run parallel but these haven’t.

*

Strength has been stolen from what’s been decided.

Collisions happen.

Separation.

Rubble divides.

*

On paper, other worries were left out of this fight.

*

Devotion and hunger ravage gifts. Loyalty stalls.

Blessings waste away as stimulation disappears.

Desire delays.

*

In the swamp. In the sand. Sinking. Lost.

Wet. Dry.

No answers.

A wall will never be a sanctuary.

But smoke may be a refuge.

Some sense to be made in consuming.