Found Poetry, by J. Londoneilson

A bit of found poetry by J. Londoneilson, inspired by To Build a Fire. 

It was cold;
The trail was faint.
Trouble with him was that he was without imagination.
He plunged in among the big spruce trees.
The man was shocked.
Trouble with him was that he was without imagination.
He strode up and down, stamping his feet and threshing his arms.
His feet must be badly frozen by now,
Trouble with him was that he was without imagination —
And he heard his own sentence of death.

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