Vapored Thoughts

The Whiskey Poured-
Glass Half Full-
The Cubes Swirling-

Smoke Rises-Helping to Focus-
Memories-
Flashes of Hate-
Anger-Love

Trust-Doors Locked and Opened-
Done

 

I sit, here, at my desk. Cast iron. My cigar is neatly hung on the side of a cast iron ash tray. The smoke is billowing upwards. I watch the smoke climb. Within a thin line, I clearly see images of the past. Which one to write next? None. All. Fiction. Through the grayish vapor stands my bookcase. There’s a picture of myself and my brothers. I see Hemingway, Steinbeck, Dickinson and others. They also sat at desks and filtered their thoughts. -M. Taggart