Poetry: Fires cleanse the future
By Nic Custer Feb 2010
Oil Chem is refining
beauty. Caustic clouds
are prayers to heaven
as livelihoods go down
in smoke on their way
to hell. Flick a match,
burn the cheap cigar,
ask yourself
why do they have a filter?
Ask yourself if Smokers
have a Choice when their
lives go on being unprotected.
Inhale fumes and gut rot.
Kill, survive, lie, strut.
Our history is buried
under bricks, We're all kings, Tut.| < Prev | Next > |
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