Up in Smoke

You take the brown paper
and softly take a tuft
of memories from the pack,
placing them gently into the middle,
right along that line.

You take the paper in your hands
and carefully roll it
between your fingers
feeling everything from the past,
and it all feels fine.

You roll the paper into a cylinder,
lick one side and seal it down;
you think of all your choices,
those responsibilities you squandered,
and you keep your head up
so you won’t drown.

And then you take the roll up
to your lips,
as you’re out there, vulnerable,
in those cold shallows,
and the taste of liquorice is on your tongue,
and you start to feel mellow.

You take the lighter from your pocket,
click it then hold,
and you’re careful not to burn
your fingertip,
as the filter starts to yellow.

You light the end,
inhale and feel that smoke
pull down into your body,
right to the very bottom,
then back up to the surface,
as out you blow.

And your head starts to feel light,
and the aching in your heart
all makes sense,
and the music in your ear
is playing just for you
in present tense.

You take a drag, exhale.
Inhale your new truth.
Then one toke, two tokes
three - now you’re floating
up there
on that roof.

You’re getting high
on your own supply
and it’s good; and it’s bad.
But you’re alive,
and you ain’t broke.

You finish it
and you smile;
you take the bad things
and you see their lightness,
and you send them up in smoke.