in which my options open up

In Poznan I learnt how to smoke.
I sat in hip dark bars
with lit up hm’s
and Tsykie and Lech.

I rubbed my eyes from the sting
and brushed the ashes off my shirt.
I breathed out fumes
and soon my head lost its’ weight.

A week later I was good
I ‘d burnt the tabak every night
It was easy now
I knew what to expect:

Where the smoke would blow
and how I could get it there
My options opened up
I saw the bar and within it the maze.

Polish collections