Saturday, November 22, 2008

Empty Station

The train is gone.
The ducks, too.
Night is silent.
Sucks the sound from me.
Hornets sleep, long sleep.
Dark cradles the hive, just enough to encourage sleep.
Standing here, listening to nothing,
missing the buzz under my skin.
When they wake, fear nausea reaches down and pulls my guts out.
Pulls them right out, piles them on the floor and puts a candle on top.
Happy birthday to the end of the world as we know it.

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