however raze i don't want the smoke. it does my head in. what i want is for you to study the piecemeal poem i've burned into my body in five parts. in it, two men meet for breakfast, waiting for a third friend they're sure won't show. a squirrel sniffs out marbles on the sidewalk and i pocket them like stolen coins. a mound of wax named for the incarnation of god is a microphone that can't be bought or bullied into doing our bidding. a punch_drunk fighter fades in the final seconds. he claims exhaustion. we say "concussion". i kiss the side of your face. you take a picture of me with one eye closed. these are the things we would miss most if they were taken away, however small they might seem to anyone who isn't us. 260428 what's it to you? who go blather from