Sleet crackles down upon the windshield. One degree to cold for rain. Blew the stop sign with a yield. Thought of you and back again.

It’s 3a.m. and black as Tuesday. They don’t have a cure for this. The accusations of a rude way. Where truth and lies could coexist.

The abyss appeared in all her glory. Speaks so sweet and knows your name. Are many ways to tell a story… Just one plot, it’s all the same.

All as pretty as a picture. All as calm and coasts are clear. They are looking for the sick cure. There’s not something like that here.

You are gone, and that’s the good news. Made it home, safe once more. The sleet is warm in pale blue hues. I will leave that at the door.

All are pretty as a picture. All are calm, and coasts are clear. All are looking for the sick cure. There is nothing like that here.

Dennis Mantin

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