The anatomy of a cold dark night in Honey Brook, Pennsylvania is more or less the same as one in St. Louis or Chicago or Newport (I would imagine. Having never been to Newport I couldn’t say certainly). It’s cold, It’s dark, and being alone could be the best or worst thing in the whole wide world.

poetry

I laundered thoughts
so they were untraceable
in case I am accosted
in the darkness tonight,
out there

No one must know that
I’m so up-beat and
devil-may-care when
this depression’s about

Why, they’d lock me up,
or shoot me dead, or
at the very worst,
detest me.

How dare I make
the best of things
when there’s such a chill
and the wind is
wailing so?

How dare I

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