[This is a draft from October 2017. Apart from an odd structure, I do like this one, especially the way it communicates its idea; almost like the words themselves, distant and whispy like a chill wind in a black cave. I never published it because it didn't really mean anything to me at the time, and was mainly a way of recording a bit of mediocre wordplay. But, you know, I'm warming to it.]
Turn the lantern down to half,
Meat; a mind without a path,
The cold air blows a bitter draft,
Meet a mind without a path.
YOU ARE READING
Auctorial Abscondences in Opusculum
Short StoryOr, a collection of vignettes and short-form stories written late at night.
