So Many Wasted Nights

Out in the inky heart of fog and sugarcane lonesome
I wandered-

thick cloud reminders of the inevitable fist of frost- ever so slow to rocket down and crush us with a blanket of dank and wind and endless cooled dawns- like Sephiroth's meteor, soon to inevitably subsume every ounce of love and life as it rams the galaxy like a black ice fender bender-

and I played pretend I was a WWI soldier, hollering dying missives as the mustard gas takes hold; some grizzled sea captain, out on the hunt in song godless stretch of murky water hell, embracing whatever Eldritch hell the ceaseless fog beat upon my wobbly port side; or a Kane-meets-Gatsby being of wealth and taste, who's calmly sipping a brisk Manhattan as the walls of my pleasure palace crumble around me, the walls beating back endless into the green glow of the night in a cost no man could say.

"Really?"

My therapist is so kind and I smile, delighted to be able to quote The Simpsons in context:

"Well, yes, but then I was a very depressed child."

Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. Maker of a fine omelet, but scrambled egg game needs some fine tuning. Nb & bi, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777