Humble Voice // CURTISD

the smoke came up as running horses galloping, they fled to the black sky as if a mighty wind of will willed them upwards and onwards, yes, and they continued onwards to their inevitable fate which all smoke meets; dissipation, yes, and it erupted into a million bits of smoke, no longer visible (is smoke still smoke if it is so faint it cannot be seen) never seen again, yes, and forgiven from the origin of his pipe, yes, and he smoked with a beauty that i never knew, yes, and how he spoke in between puffs like an ancient god, yes, he was buddah and jesus and moses and mohammed, yes, and he knew the words to the songs and the poems he spoke were beauty in ink, yes, they were wisdom in paper, yes, his thoughts were men marching madly meddling mortality, yes, magic, yes, he had known love and he had known death and he said they were the same, yes, and i agreed though i had never been introduced to either, yes, but strangers are the best teachers, yes, strangers look and rely on first impressions (which are the most valuable kind to have), and i listened to him like i had never listened before, yes, but all that reached my ears were intellectual babble, yes, it just sang like a million birds with broken beaks, yes, and i wished i could really listen but i couldnt, yes, and when i tried to talk it fell flat, as if i were talking for the sake of talking, yes, and i wondered, is this what he is doing; is he talking to me to talk and my reverence for him causes me to hear wisdom, yes, am i just a listener, or do i speak as others do and they succeed in saying whatever comes to their minds where i fail, yes, and i thought this as i saw the horses gallop, yes, they brought it to a regular gait heading toward heaven, yes, toward the wind and smoke god who makes his home with the tobacco leaves and bonfires and the burning timbers of ancient rome, yes, what i see is what i get, and what i saw was inconsequential, yes.