Frank Sinatra and some cigarettes

There’s more smoke

Of tobacco 

Than oxygen in the air

And yet 

My lungs find

The air to breathe.

There’s more Sinatra

Than silence in my ears 

And yet

I catch my mind

Wandering off to places

I have never seen.

And I wonder

If he believes

In what he sings.

If fools rushed in

Where angels feared to tread,

Why is it

That when he was dead,

He was buried with

A lighter and 

A bunch of cigarettes,

Just as if

He was more afraid

To meet

The angels from heaven


The demons from hell. 

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