MAGPIE TALE: Tears and Smoke
Why'd you stick your eyes in my smoke if you knew it might make them burn?
I've no pity for your pain and need to smolder and smudge my own aches away.
Let your tears flow as they must and let my little clouds rise on its own.And to think you came from the land of smudge pots and citrus.
Smokey winter nights on the edge of the desert and a banana tree
in the basement hidden like a refugee or pock-marked lover.
You came from that land of questionable icons, each with a Salem or Marlboro
lit and shrouding their calls for flag waving and stoicism.
The passion of the pastels has come with the season.
Some embryo shell dipped and shellacked to be hidden and found,
a sullen reward for a chase whose purpose remains elusive.