© Nolan Hatcher

With each word, more

            Wild, ripe

Scent cruising down

            The corridors

Her step-father's

      Singing at Gallagher’s,

But would rather not

            Die there.

No, don't want to die

            In Georgia.

The new girl, the riddle

            Lambent

In an aureole of frozen

            Breath

Knows inside and out

      And why the mood is sick,

And how long it has

            Left.

Don't want to die

            In Georgia.

The cold.  The shakes

            Take control

Crawling intently,

            Mercilessly

To reduce

      The center to shadows.

No!  Make out the face's

            Features;

Don't die in

            Georgia.

Peppermint, the new

            Girl's warmth

Scatters the particles so they don't

            Care to be reassembled

O is it complete,

      Or is it dead?

Don't want to die

            In Georgia.

No, don't want to die

 RAUDELUNAS

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