Feb 13, 2011 | Gus Stevens, Regret, Seasons, Sonnet, Victorian Sonnet, Winter
By some unjust miracle I awoke again today. How? When the wasted days and hours accumulate like a grey cloak of soot-heavy snow; the sweet-sick malaise sticks and smothers me. Regret, my old friend, tucks me to sleep under these covers, while, minute-by-minute, the...
