I don't remember why I wrote this, but I remember that I wrote it when I worked in a bank cash vault on a pile of money. Prophetic?
cold wounded night
pierced by self evaluation
darkness blackens the hole
and pure personification
is all that I know
spills my pride
stalked by my imaginaion
blindness attacks my face
and cold intoxication
forces me brave
all rights reserved. Copyright Justin W. Price, 1998
Thanks for Reading.
A freelance writer, Honors student and Gover Prize finalist, Justin W. Price (aka, PDXKaraokeGuy) considers himself a poet first and foremost but is also a skilled short story, biographer and humor writer. His poetry collection, Digging to China, will be released February 2nd, 2013 by Sweatshoppe Publications and is currently available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and your local bookseller.
His work will also be featured in Best New Fiction (2014 edition), and has appeared previously in the Rusty Nail, eFiction, eFiction Humor, The Crisis Chronicles, The Hellroaring Review and the Bellwether Review. He currently serves as managing editor of eHorror Magazine and the Bridge online newspaper. He previously served as the poetry and correspondence editor for The Bellwether Review.
He works as a freelance writer, editor, and ghost writer, and is working towards his Ph.D. He lives in a suburb of Portland, Oregon with his wife, Andrea, and their labradoodle, Bella
Please visit his profile page for more information. Thanks!
More by this Author
An analysis of the poem, the Filling Station, by American poet laureate, Elizabeth Bishop.
i had a bird that flew away
The author writes a letter to his six year old self, explaining the origins of his emetophobia