I ONLY SMOKE CIGARETTES ON YOUR ROTATION
BY MATTHEW ROHRER
I ONLY SMOKE CIGARETTES
ON YOUR ROTATION
everyone else sees me
as the actual smoke
passing in front of their
selection in the vending machine
or waving frantically
to get their attention
while pulling apart
in the afternoon breeze
when I wake up in your bed
hungover, shredded cheese
in the bedclothes,
I always feel, briefly,
a terrible panic
that I never called home
with my excuses. But
you are my home.
IF YOU EAT THIS COOKIE I WON’T LET YOU IN TO PARADISE.
BY MATTHEW ROHRER
IF YOU EAT THIS COOKIE
I WON”T LET YOU IN TO PARADISE.
That is what
the whole thing comes down to.
I feel the late summer breeze
slipping in under
the heat of the day.
Everyone wants to put
their stamp on that. I walk
through the crowds of people
with coins instead of eyes.
I know they don’t see
me in league with scrubby
trees, passing notes to gulls
to pass on to the sea