I Roll My Own Cigarettes

I roll my own cigarettes,

I know I shouldn’t

but surely cancer couldn’t

fail to respect

the debt

I already owe my body?

I roll my own cigarettes,

an art-form that will not conform,

such careful precision,

wasted,

but gratefully tasted,

my yellowed fingers,

a disgrace I face,

yet will not defend my position.

I pretend it is pasted,

paint, not a taint,

my vice, my decision,

but I, unruly,

truly… do not care.

I am prepared.

I roll my own cigarettes,

often in advance,

ready for the chance

to advance my pleasure,

I work at my leisure,

I roll my own cigarettes.

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