Matthew Newton

Something Maple May Be: (interlude) by Matthew L Newton

Blades of grass brush the tip of my nose, sweet summer smells clamor throughout and the tender sun sets brightly over the tree tops. If at all wondering, now overcome and belonging to the world are my thoughts, how simple the trends.

I have more then I think.
I am more then I want to be.

“Where do the lights go?” The lazy figure rested against a stump says sipping what could only very fantly remind of sugar.

“When?” I ask and role over, a tight grip on a cup and the other to push me back to me feet.

“When they’ve finished.” The figure moves, then relaxes again.

“Where?” By now the balance of the dawn undone when summers light has gone.

“Over there, by the house near that lake.”

“That was specific.” I start off, walking down toward the tree line that seperates us from the lake, there is a house, but far bit it for me to go along with anything this one has to say.
“Come on, lets go see.”

Behind the russling foot falls and a tune between the spit. A passing wall of flies and then the stench to follow it. We come onto the back lot hurried thru iron gate, and watch as out from a doorway staggers Wonder, Fear, and Hate.

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868

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