Winter sun, I’m on the run
The taste of blood
Under my tongue

Winter sun, no more fun
A hole in your palm
Where I can stick my thumb

Winter sun, one on one
One to make faith stout
One to cast doubt


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.