It rises from the coals, settling in the nostrils
just a quick breathe inward releasing droplets
of water down a cheek. It musters
unwillingly, a fog clouding the judgment
leaving a stained trail behind. It chokes
the senses, pokes at the weak, a fire
meant for victory, but now more the stint
of past defeat. But it continues to raise
itself into the sky, its tail following close behind,
lifting the stench that once gave it its name.
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