Pulp Poem of the Week

There was now only

the process of taking away.

He wondered if

it was like that with everyone,

and he decided that

it must be.

And he wondered how

they felt,

and reasoned that

they must feel

about as he.

That was all

there was to life:

a gift that was slowly

taken away from you.

Jim Thompson

Heed the Thunder

1946