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 A roll-up in the morning.
 Redolent, the crutch that supports
 in the rushing hour
 before all the whistles and bells.

 Gliding serenely through
 the pressures and tantrums,
 with a composure
 built from cloudy exhalation.

 The triumvirate deposited
 blessed sanctuary is sought.
 A congratulatory smoke,
 marginally less harmful

 than the prescription props
 that shore up
 other crumbling minds
 I suppose.