Darkness... ...All is Dark.


Well, not all is Dark, but a good deal is.



With an occupant in that seat nearly every day for the past fourteen or so years, it's well worn-in. The wheel I've decided to grasp is about as worn-in as the seat. It's a wonderful old mobile. Emphasis on "old."

I heard a story once, about these demons. Berbalangs, they called them. They had red eyes and a deafening Noise about them from far away. As the Noise fades, that signals their approach, it always means that they're closer. The tail-lights of the car in front of me always remind me of that.

Every so often, you can just barely see a puff of smoke from the window. After about a mile of just the SUV and I on this dark, winding, yet familiar road, it happens.


The beautiful, indescribable color of a Hot Cherry is propelled from the window. Carelessly discarded and left for mother nature to handle.


As if Someone pressed fast-forward on a slow-motion scene, the butt descends, twirling and twisting. Its discarded form finds the asphalt, then it explodes.


A gargantuan, yet small shower of sparks, all insignificant, yet all can start a blaze, a tragedy.

(only you can prevent it, yo.)

Those sparks, the cigarette's offspring of heat, the kids of the cancer stick, race towards my tire.


Yet...they all die, before they have a chance to meet the rubber around my wheel.


Their Parent, dear old father fag, lived a good life. A ripe old ten minutes. Some described him as smooth and full of flavor.



I'd planned on leaving this poem at that, then decided to expand, then didn't.