the cigarette sits smoking in the glazed ceramic ashtray on the dark wooden table
a glass of amber whiskey sweats as the three ice cubes slowly melt in the hot summer air
the sound of miles playing softly in the background punctuates the sounds of the busy street outside
he sits in a yellow sweat stained sleeveless shirt on the couch hunched forward to tap the keys
a halo of smoke shimmers around his head like a benediction to the words he feverishly types
his foot taps to the music his mind cannot recognize in the din of full creation mania
he paused the incessant clatter for a moment and wipes his brow before taking a long drag
the exhale of blue smoke stings his eyes as he runs the cold glass over his forehead slowly
a humble of voices carry into the room with exotic accents raised to the edge of violent dissent
he smiles as he takes another drag before crushing it out in the overpiled graveyard of butts
without thought he leans forward again and the typewriter seems to adopt the rhythm of the song
it may be no masterpiece slowly coming to life on the blank sheet as it winds through the rollers
but as he rips the sheet out and carefully examines it while lighting a fresh smoke he nods
sometimes the greatest works aren’t born of beauty at all but out of those moments between
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
You had me at “graveyard of butts”. The visual that conjured was bizarre. Like, I pictured zombie butts pushing themselves out of the dirt. But then was like, “Oooh. Cigarette butts… duh.” Smh….
But yes, well done as always… but the butts line had me giggling and snorting like a total doofus. 👍👍👍 My mind always goes the wrong way… lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
that is an excellent image. And just shy of horrifying.
LikeLike
Yes. You can thank yourself for that. But if my interpretation of said verse inspires another poem… then… you’re welcome. 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I hate that I keep coming back to the idea of zombie ass
LikeLike
Haha!!! Hey man… be careful how you string together them there words…. Cuz weird shit happens sometimes. 🤣
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hahahaha. Luckily for both of us, I am not into zombie lit besides the poem the other day and a short story. And both of those are based on Haitian lore. No squelching zombie booties shall leave my pen.
LikeLike
That sounds like it is for the best. And I only dig zombie lit if it is filled with copious amounts of human-oriented pornography in between brain-munching sessions. *awkward silence* Yup…. 🧟♀️
LikeLiked by 1 person
then you are going to love the vampire story I am letting percolate. white trash vampires in small town Texas.
LikeLike
Omg. I fucking love vampies!! I wait patiently.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Also… you must watch the Criterion film A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night. Iranian Western-type vampire film with a feminist slant. Bloody amazing!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I will. That sounds wonderful.
LikeLike
Love the old era feel…
LikeLiked by 1 person
throw back poetry for the modern age
LikeLike