Exceptional Poem for potlatch The 26666th dawn by LIJ Red

The morning comes, a spiteful wife to this gray landfill of my life the sky's dull red, my mood rotten the clouds like dirty wads of cotton above me soar, I think they gloat to see the beached hulk of my boat. The years made more melancholy one born somewhat less than jolly. As Dawn's chill fog starts to abate the damned angels will have to wait. Author Notes Doctor: "General, I fear the angels are waiting for you." Ethan Allen :"They are? Damn 'em, let 'em wait."

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