A Beveled Trough
Sweet clouds
Tanned by night
Sweep hats and coats
As a sign of respect
To a wandering baby
Who saw cartoons
Manifest
On his walls
A hunter nearby dreams
The animals he intends to kill in daylight
Slide by on instinct and ignorance
He’ll say he thought he heard something
In a trough by the lake
(it was the remnants of a fishing pier)
The cartoons abandoned the baby
Dawn sucked stars into the mud
Here’s how you keep a demon busy
But you’ll never tire him out
Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved
