Tobacco is a vain, simple enjoyment <br />elevated to the great worth of an addiction <br /> <br />It scowls at the radiance of raw health and bustle <br />with the eyes of an inmate <br />discovered burning from a dark corner <br /> <br />Tobacco is the frank pursuit of self-possessed decline <br />in the relief of a chain of microscopic interludes <br /> <br />The sticky green leaf wagging in the August haze <br />the yellow-brown hands cured to old skin <br />up beyond the October fog <br />promise a skidmark of seasoning <br />an incense of shut and thick sweet spaces <br />on top of the crude bright air of the senses <br /> <br />It fills up the emptiness around hands <br />like a post between the shoulder blades during conversation <br /> <br />It ripens the smoker beyond a near awareness <br />and his gaze will go through clouds into the distance <br /> <br />Like all drugs there is the misery of cloying compulsion <br />like all pleasures the laurels of remorse<br /><br />Edward Wright Haile<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tobacco/
