January 12, 2024
POETRY: Smoke and Mirrors
Smoke and Mirrors
By Andrew Stone
This autumn morning sun
like a giant eye in the sky
lights up the place
with a bright yet hazy blue tinge.
An open secret understood by few,
a mystery revealed but not perceived.
I find a quiet space inside
car horns sirens and radio deejays rappin’
about nothing. In another place
bombs and rockets blow away dreams,
shatters hope, dismembers everything.
Smoke, rising from frustrated vehicles
mired in weekday urgency, will pass.
In another universe perhaps, smoke
is a funeral pyre,
a homing beacon for the vultures.