by Eli Hogan

It's four AM and
I'm sitting outside on the porch and
a train is going by about a mile away and
I can hear the roar through the night.
A terrible thought strikes me-
or maybe it’s not so bad.
that train just passed her house.
The only woman who ever
cut through the fog is
four miles from me and
it might as well
be a million.

Sometimes I look at the stars
and wonder where you went.
I wonder where God went and
why I can't seem to catch my breath and
why the living hasn't stopped, it only feels like it has.
I was made for this.
made to suffer in a grand cosmic accident.

Eli Hogan is a Georgian aspiring writer. His pieces have been published in The Sentinel and the Atlanta Journal Constitution. In his time not spent writing, he studies at Kennesaw State University.