 poem by graeme cooper smoke signals those nowhere days at the dogend of a year on which i have inhaled deeply even though it sometimes made me cough march lit the match and hope smouldered in april s fancy ashtray waiting for the long hot summer which never came the pungent fumes of self doubt made me green with choking paranoia until a window opened letting in a sharp draught of words which mingled with the madness painting on the smokescreens a mirror of my insanity clearing the air now the wind howls and the lighter won t spark and i wait in the wintry dark nervously toying with the pristine filter of the new year issue 1 graeme cooper 