Oh dear, there are gears
in between my ears.
They grind everyday.
I remind myself
that my own gears
need no help to turn
or to burn. Sometimes,
I can hear my gears
grind away. Sometimes,
I can feel the steel
become hot. I am
surprised smoke is not
coming from my eyes.
These gears turn . I don’t
have any concerns.
They will always turn,
no matter the year.
Calling in those who recognized it’s scent
The black sky cut up by puffy cloud formation
Those close enough know what it meant
A sigh is pushed out of a lungs temptation
Its grey shape filters any sunset
As perception fades, so does time
Did you get my signal?
If my signal fades, you’re in the right spot
Breathing air that is sold and bought
Other make sense of the this air I breathe
As smoke transcends into a world abyss
Saying anything, lasts as long as consumed air
Under smoke signals with the ones that care.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 