The Box

The Box
by P. R. Lowe, Copyright May 13, 2018
I grabbed myself some dark
and a piece of quiet
and carried them out into the woods
like a sandwich
like a picnic
and I devoured them before day break
before the sounds came back
before the traffic and the noise of doing
doing doing doing
before they found me
for they had followed me again
trying to catch me
put me in a box with the others
with out any dark, or quiet, or stillness
just a heat lamp of light that buzzed
and burned the skin and assaulted the ears
and a bunch of hurrying scurrying creatures
that I had no desire to be with
I would find a crack in their crude construct
and I would squeeze out
into the cool quiet forest
and I’d grab me some dark
and a piece of quiet
and I would head deeper
into the woods
and have a picnic with the faeries

This entry was posted in Auto-writing and Remembering, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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