My hands smell of cigarette smoke.
No surprise, since cigarettes
Are their only companions.

Once, long ago now, they rested
In the docile curves of your skin,
Two strange black beasts.

Now, unattached, the grow listless
Picking and plucking at the world.
Searching for the string

That will unravel the 3 months,
9 days and 22 hours
that have passed since you left.
They search to bring you home.

Marc Dones Bio

Marc Dones forgot to send us a bio, but that doesn't hinder his work in the least. We (the Elitists) have been sitting on his poetry for sometime now and we are pleased that we can finally share it with Detroit. If you're ever up in Birmingham in need of a coffee fix, stop at Java Hutt because you'll probably have a chance to meet this talented young writer.

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