I dreamt myself a ghost woken
Of a morning by frigid rain
pitiless, needling, painful, unknown
From my indistinct fore-life

My domain an irregular bowl
A well bottom a warm, still
Kingdom to float swampy vapors
Possessing to the precipice, no more

No direct light no voice for miles
The one throat rough stone
Unequal to amplify my untutored
Moan into a language, just stillborn tone

Handful of coins and bones my company
Though once a wounded vole splashed in
But touchless fingers let it sink –
After its last breath no spirit remained

I haunted that negative column
An age of the earth or more then woke
In darkness to a frigid bed began the chore
Stretching life out another long day

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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