The People of Smoke

They walk around
thunderheads with
voids of smoke and ash for eyes
a warm red glow rising from the center
of their faces.

They huddle together
in the hollows of the night’s
angry old bloated corpse
speaking in kindled sarcasm
and smoldering joy.

This is their moment
the calm humid summer night
where their smoke lingers
fragile waiting for the inevitable
for the wind to rise up
their conversations come to an end
their gatherings ceased.

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