douglas brent smith

there must have been three or four reasons why the cards in your hand shook waiting on the meld smoke swirling around your lip (swollen from the mouthpiece of a stubborn trumpet) sky writing secret indecipherable signals playing your hand against your partner's  lack of bullets "nothing but clothes" you said a handful of jacks and queens powerless in the endgame of tricks but that's not what you were thinking of i could tell with the gin nearly empty and the ashtray full of roaches some sweet lucid larceny was taking place and for a moment eyes meeting eyes you pick-pocketed a parcel of unsung refrains from within me and never cracked a smile. -- douglas brent smith

ashes, roaches, tweezers, matches our hands a foot apart not touching until you pass the heavy book of Picasso paintings tapping the cover telling me without telling me the days grow shorter a candle burns slowly security in its perch atop the bottle of cheap wine (a pair of feline eyes stare through the glass top sharing perfect secrets knowing what is real) "who believes in love anymore?" you say, a provocation? an invitation?  "maybe," i reply, "maybe!" if it is you who is of love and secrets perfected by scars but! you feel untouchable heavier than this table carrying questions that burn, that smoke that penetrate us, but why? i'm alive enough to know i'm  near you not near enough to you to know i'm alive douglas brent smith