I’ve held the breath of everything
in my lungs
at one time
or another.
That crisp breath
expelled by the rasping chest of earth.
Snapping at the throat
on the way down
and roaring tearing soaring
worn,
heated and
immediately refrosted
on the way back up
and out.
And mixed.
And mixing.
A mixer in the shot of
cars
coffee
cigarettes
keeping all of that
belching bleached
laughter
alive.
For god’s sake,
cover your mouth
when your mother coughs.
Image credit: Time Out
Book of Pye 