TrystanBehm

Clouds

The jukebox plays, poodle skirts spin

The dogs barked all night

A feeling of insecurity, of abandonment

Enveloped in a whirl of thick space

 

I breathed and blew until I could no more

And died

A withering smile as the autumn breeze froze my heart

Not wanting this night to end

I have come to the last leg of my journey

I wonder – is this it?

Rolling around my imagination

With abstract ideas of purity

Like virgin snows on the knoll

Untouched by the choking, bloody hands of some culture.