Poetry

Spooktown, 27 (301.)

It’s the ol’ double whammy,
work and tabletop role-playing,
and this means
I don’t have a lot of free time.
So I do the ol’ blog double whammy,
two posts within an hour of each other,
something like two quick gasps of air
in the shallow part of a frigid lake,
probably while a shadowed something
wanders the opposite bank.
One would swear its eyes glowed red
beyond the pines,
and it’s very possible
it looked
right
this
way.

Double tap that trigger, son,
’cause death flies fastest
in the claws of the inhuman.

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