Navel-Gazing (Hangman)

You hold the stub of a one-way train ticket
between fingers that recently
fondled the lit cigarette.
You’ve put it out beneath your heel,
leaving a scorch-mark on the pavement,

but the smoke still clouds around your head,
giving you a halo, and
causing me to choke on everything I said.

Thin lipless smile traced on by a pencil,
I’ve glimpsed one-too-many hangman games
gone awry, and the little man
is swinging on the gallows I have made for him, 

comprised of every word written by this shaky hand,
and every lisping syllable, and every
eager phrase that twisted this tongue into unheard of shapes,
just for another attempt at this
navel-gazing,

and  the cigarette smoke still lingers
giving you a halo, while I choke on everything I said,
while I was navel-gazing.