Broken Threads Of Smoke Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(spun by a snowy morning)

(i)

Air is knitting thin
fibers of smoke
into its cream beige
shivering screen,

a thousand white dots
of ash floating
from the smoker's cigar
by the window.

The smoker's puffs
break into flying wings
of smoke,
as white dashes

from the finger-flipped
breaking tip
of the cigar sail
through tunnels dug

by white flying
fruit flies from the ashy tree
of the rising smoke
from his thick burning cigar
hanging on an ash tray.

But the tray is churning
a deep hearth
to breathe out thick cream scales
of cinder

from the glowing wrap
of the cigar unfolding
the smoker's broken glass
of hope dropped
on a thick slab by his feet.

(ii)

A breezy break when blank
daisy air dances
and flips over like a light
rolled-out plastic sheet

floated from a window upstairs
filled with smokers
puffing out thick spirals
of smoke, as wind blows off
creams scales
of ashes flapping mites' wings.

How thousands of mites
fly from ashes
building up
into cream sandstones

poking beige layers
over a sea of earth
flipping over
waves flying gray splashes
from an abandoned
leaking cigar, its ashes dripping

to hang out with
cream and white threads
of frolicking insects.

The cigar smoker's full
ash tray
tumbles on a parapet,

its flying scales of ashes
flying with small
white butterflies from an ashy
air of cigar smokers
on a cold morning

trumpeting out cream silence
to grip the flakes
of a snowy morning weaving
swaying cream pullovers
hung on breaking steel lines.

But gods of the morning
keep on puffing out
cream threads of smoke

from vitolas and robustos
hanging from stitched lips
on a snowy creeping morning.