Lucky Strike promises.
Eternal health.
Masculine appeal.
Cowboys.
Motorcycles
and detectives in black and white.
Blues bars- formerly
choking with atmosphere.
Cigarettes stuck in the strings of
Gibson
Gretch and
Fender.
Embers glowing in
Dylan's shades
Then there was disease-
black lungs in elementary school jars and
holes in the throats of
ancient puffers speaking with
robotic tongues.
Denial
Repression
what should be believed
what is inside them?
what is inside of us?
we know
we don't care
we should.
Bogart and Bacall
sharp eyes through hazy air
HS Thompson, pulling through a filter.
Dean eternal,
McQueen eternal-
cool.
Where is masculinity?
What is it?
Where has it gone?
Where is my pipe?
my violin?
my revolver?
or my faithful horse?
Gone they say;
consumed in
a grey cloud of cancer.
Bitter betterment
at the hands of
lollypops
toothpicks
medicated patches
and electronic
handheld
flavored
fog machines.
Habits die hard
cultures die hard
Nothing for coffee but pastry
nothing for behind the wheel but the radio
nothing to make the throat singe after sex
nothing to complete the image.
ghost limbs
reaching out of celluloid
reaching out of every smoking area
reaching out of the back of your mind
ghost limbs of
identity
