Lift my head up to see
blacker-than-night sky
with its brighter-than-white
stars in all their un-light-polluted beauty;
On the horizon amber clouds gather;
modern. Silt-like. And the peace
between countryside and city,
silent. Perfect.
Lower my head to be sick in the
bushes.
Out of the darkness,
the dog comes to eat it.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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