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He smoked trabucos, mild miniatures produced by the Austrian monopoly, but preferred Don Pedros and Reina Cubanos...
Contact was established only by means of his voice and the odor of the cigars he ceaselessly smoked.
-Raymond de Saussure, describing his psychoanalysis with Freud
He smoked trabucos, mild miniatures
produced by the Austrian monopoly,
but preferred Don Pedros and Reina Cubanos
patients brought him from Berchtesgaden.
Twenty times each day he struck a match
and sucked-smoke socializing with his
mouth’s moist mucosa, teeth stained amber,
nicotine firing his neurons, analysands
hearing the soft sigh of packed leaves burn
when he puffed, waiting for his throat-clearing
cough, choking on sour saliva and muddy
phlegm before he spoke, each interpretation
blown hard on his breath’s black wind
like thunderheads patients inhaled, the master’s
molecules inside them, merged like apple
wood and salt in cured Vienna sausage,
cigar pyridines impregnating skin and hair,
the warp and weft of woolen suits, a stench
patients carried on flesh they shared with lovers.
Reclined on the couch six days each week,
their heads floated in his clouds, years
of dreams gone up in smoke.