The night had had of itself, yes,
a stinging sort of chill.
No one in their right mind, no,
would walk among the five-foot, snowy hills.
No one, yes, save for I, hmph,
who loved to go walking
in the dark -- for "photography" I'd tell myself -- late at night.
I snapped a portrait here and there, yes, taking
the dead-winter-night's glory for my public portfolio,
but I didn't know
that the truck, with its wheels almost afloat -- hm --
would come barreling for me, yes, with no signs of stopping.
I told my mother I'd be back soon, I did.
Damn it. DAMN IT! I did, I did!
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YOU ARE READING
Sublimations from the Lost-and-Found
PoetryThis will be a collection of my original poetry- Old, new, and still forming. It shall cover all the emotions of the human-condition, or at least try to. Thus, please don't be too alarmed by any angry, embittered, or despairing verses. I hope you en...
