Jihad (Ultra Mild)

i could murder a cigarette but i'll hold off for now - the time is not right - & if i ignite here wow who knows what might go up with me there in the stratos, in the fear the wind-up bird that's growing old constrained at every turn the signs to left & right declaring rauchen verboten - except in open spaces where (we presume) one's less liable to hurts - subways & buses (natch) are right out & on holidays well it's understandably hard to resist sparking up - & yet you must for after brennschluss well what then? what ticket stubs from heaven will you produce to clear your name? of lines i'm careless still - we've plenty left to fill - but breaths? & words? how to enunciate these when your lungs are still the cilia have ceased their beat? without air bodies are mere meat & we just the memories of braveries dares - but still the trigger impulse or this drunken affair sitting on some backstep while smoke drifts in the london air ... they've struck again or else it's just a match - or else the flash the bare stench of frustration willing to ignore facts: a puff of white smoke (we have a pope)

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