The Middusk.



The Middusk. cold stories
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Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago

The Middusk.

I wait on the side, Of the off-shoot of a back street, In front of a house much larger than my own. --- The low brick wall is painted white, The windows and door are bordered in black,

I watch the evening news through the Tudor panes. --- My lips are chapped with winter, Sore and splitting at the seams, My boiling breath hisses through them. --- Above, hangs the young moon, Suspended by the vapour-trails

of jumbo jets, And the sky is blooming with larkspur and lantanas. --- I shiver and rise from my perch on the wall, Set the old coat my brother gave me about my frame, And head, quietly, home. ---

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