379. the kissing gate.

set the clock

for o-two hundred

wake, dress, drive for 30 minutes

on empty roads

the blink blink of the car alarm

loud

in the blackness:

through the woods

around the lake

ten miles

nearly shit myself

with the things I saw

or thought I saw

– the things I heard

or thought I heard

and I’m a grown man

it’s not often I’m scared shitless

these days

the woods an ancient place with no streetlights,

the water lapping black with no moon, no torch

I can only make out the sandy path

around the lake

if I look straight ahead

– look down & the path disappears

water either side

then click clack through the kissing gate

– the car’s still here

blink blink

a cigarette

and home to bed,

jeez, I feel alive

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