jaywalker

the matchstick
whispers noise
as it catches its head
on fire

light arrives at the tip
of my cigar and slowly crawls toward my
silence

the cigar leaks its breath
down my throat
and its skin to my patio rail

smog grips the vacant night
or could've been mist
to the dreamy eye

aided by the breeze
leaves leave their marginal
existence and jaywalk on
the street

detached from who I am
at work
in bed
near the crib

I jaywalk all over
Mindstreet
to find
another me