A Quiet Smoke

Poetry, the real stuff the serious thing
kindles in the mind, internal heat that builds
finally to burst its flame upon the page
An Instantaneous combustion of thought
as might raze a loft of new green hay

My work is verse at best, a struck match
that flares momentarily, then blown out
A blaze to light my cigarette, hands cupped
My words will never burn a building down
but then a quiet smoke is all I'm really after