I don’t know why but it struck me
as something somehow very cruel
to see, this getting redder by
the second expanding ball of
fire like a hot saturn with its
many orbiting rings of intertwining
smoke keeping it from
completely exploding out into
the rest of the universe.
And then the flashing half lit face
like a black and white photo unevenly
torn from the pages
of a fashion magazine, or
a plaster head partly smashed and
hollow on the one side.If there
were eyes they were hidden completely
by a giant pod shaped hat
with something resembling boulders
or flowers in tied-together
balls cascading down the darker
side and into the canyons
of her car seat like a story
broken and silenced forever.
The sliced slanted shoulders like something
worn away and polished by
a hundred years of powerful
and ancient winds now keeping her
chin in precarious balance
by an act of sheer will. And then
the light changed.And she disappeared.
52|250 A Year of Flash 
darryl, i love this. sadly, it makes me want to smoke again (no worries, i won’t do it). your painting of a moment’s memory is marvelous. it’s combustive.
SO much descriptive power about a simple cigarette. You’ve romantacized smoking so very well, and the longing for another. peace…
That you wrote such a beautiful poem about such a revolting habit is truly a wonder. Great job. I loved this.