Black Winter

Prose Poem

photo found on unsplash.com by artist Tom Barrett

I stood outside for a smoke, my outstretched hand was swallowed up by the black abyss of night. The subzero air gnawed it’s teeth on my ears and cheekbones. The frigid cut of winter howled through the trees and rattled the stop signs.

Beneath the surface of my skull, my mind wondered on about hell and what temperature the devil keeps his thermostat.