Two rows
of smoking
test tubes
in clear racks,
faint smoke 
a breeze.
The cure is in
the mixture
of smokes
but they are gone
before anyone
can trap them.


Climbers learn 
to steady their breath 
the moment before 
death, but you gulp 
the air, no matter
how laughable,
in front of your
sheer canvas
and over your
pumice cauldron.

Peter Waldor | Mudlark No. 36
Contents | Leg Paint 45/46