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16 | Reflection Poetry

After 3 A.M. in Her Soul: fractal art by Shawn Michel de Montaigne




I pull over onto the thin shoulder, turn off the headlights,

and roll down the window.

I’m on a hill. The city spreads out before me, glittering and sparkling,

light-years away.


I wish I wasn’t sixteen years old. I wish I could stay sixteen forever.

The pulse in my ears sounds like electricity. It throbs in my heart and groin.


Cool, sweet air. My shirt still smells like her. It mingles with sleepy breezes.

I’m not remotely sleepy, and I’m dangerously far from home.

There my family dies slowly in bed.

She’s worried about me. She thinks I’m going to get my heart broken.

I am, but the pulse pounding through me is too strong to stop.

It’s inevitable. It all is.


I’m years from the precipice. I’m standing right on it.

I’m sixteen. I’m ravaged. I’m a fool.

I’m just a stupid kid. I’ve got no idea.

The stars twinkle above in steady, silent patience.

They’ve seen this before. Many, many times.

I’m nobody special.


I turn down the heat, turn up the Bob Seger, and drive down the hill.




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Fractal Art: After 3 A.M. in Her Soul

From: Fractalverse: Volume Four

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