Article: 288650 of talk.bizarre
From: (John G. Drummond)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: sans
Date: 2 Dec 1996 01:23:11 GMT
Organization: The End
Lines: 26
Sender: drummojg@JMU.EDU
Message-ID: <57tb1v$>

Winter trees 
so crisp that the snow-smell snaps off
rim the world, cold, austere, against a darkening
dark blue sky that swallows the world.  The coming 
of winter electrifies the summer-sleeping part of my soul, 
and drugs the bright blue in me.  Gray clouds 
the color of rotten ice float high 
overhead, wisps of outer darkness, 
distant oh so far above they seem not to move only change.

I walk through a parking lot, tapping a can (odd
detail to have in a poem, but you see);
my cat has run off.  I fear the coming frost will be
the end of him, the dumb bastard.  Found him in a hot
and stinking hazy August heap of trash, only to be lost
in air so clear and clean it must be made of atoms made
of snow.  So I go back in and write a poem
in memory of my cat, God bless 'im.  I go to bed
and dream of taller trees but brighter sky and a cold,
clear world without walls filled with the smell of
coming snow.  I wander.

-Omar, he came back after two weeks.
'on the thin side of evil and trying not to break through'  --Toni Morrison