Tuesday 3 March 2015

Cigarette (March)



Fields of the Ovens Valley are ploughed over for other ends. Boxes covered in diseased lung and enflamed throat massage the meaning. Melbourne carparks are littered with them. All yesterday’s parties are smoke. While today only a March Hare or Marlon Brando fumes, wisdom dictating it’s either stupidity or rebellion. Both, most times. We burn for life. Boxes then had pleasurable alpine vistas or salty sailors to tickle our vanity. We were too tough to care. The Preacher had a hack who went on life support. He didn’t run out of things to say, he just ran out of puff.

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