Don Clark

The cold alone

 

 

You are a grinning madness,
standing there in chill moonlight.
Why then so much sadness?

The bottle drained inside a mess,
howling there through sleepless night.
You are a grinning madness.

When these are gone I’ll have some rest,
the cold alone and hidden from sight.
Why then so much sadness?

I must consume drink-drink to dress,
a boy now lowered, cornered in fright.
You are a grinning madness.

Red peaks through the changing crest,
bringing forth the snarled fight.
Why then so much sadness?

You carry off the iron-warm west,
hunting breath lit up as light.
You are a grinning madness.
Why then so much sadness?

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