Running from concrete

The sparkle of the moonbeams danced in the reflection of this morning’s coffee

The hush of the owls palpable in the air hanging like fog on  the misty lake

One more sip of fresh water left in the canteen

Damn I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to stay here any longer

The alternative— the heat of piss steaming off the Manhattan concrete

lLght the Douglas Fir candle half burned at Christmas and give thanks for the family cabin

Uncle Larey’s book shelf holds books he clearly never meant to read and nobody else will either

Eying that boat tied securely to the dock…

there’s only one way out of here

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