antique coldness in green bars—
hunting is negative 10 degrees.
thousand intersections in savage trails—
i gasped. i lost my bottled water.
whisky drops left me retching,
i return to the so-called distress.
over and over i flip and toss.
this is crazy. my mess is jumping jack.
up and down, kaleidoscopic bounds.
spoiling the hundred graves, dead’s!
thus, i ended, and prevented.
no traces of animals.