3/30

Side note--by now you have all probably noticed that none of my first drafts have line breaks. It's 30/30, people--and breaks for me don't usually happen until draft 3ish. Sorry. Here's the poem:

On the corner of James and Kentucky, the chainsaw store’s open sign is still flashing. It is late, and the store is dark. My eyes swim, and it isn’t hard to imagine a world where this open sign could be taken for its word. Perhaps I would be dressed in un-cured leather astride some kind of ATV, perhaps on foot with a cut-off sheet tied strategically round me. In the world where chainsaw stores stay open this late, there are old newspapers perpetually drifting across the street and the stoplights don’t change anymore. The moon seems closer than it should, and its light unwholesome. I know that my home is only blocks away, but who knows how long it will take me to get there.