The thing was, you couldn’t watch all of them (not all at once.) He began to make a whining noise– unaware in his locked concentration that he was making any sound (at all.) His eyes darted, from one hedge creature to the next Trying to see them (move.) The wind gusted making a hungry rattling sound in the close matted branches. What kind of sound would there be (if they got him?) But of course he knew. A snapping, rending, breaking sound. (It would be–) no no NO NO I WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS NOT AT ALL! He clapped his hands to his over his eyes clutching at his hair, his forehead (his throbbing temple.) And he stood like that for a long time (dread building.) Until he could stand it no longer and he pulled his hands away. ****** The idea behind a found poem is to take a paragraph from a book, and break it down into lines that form a poem. I borrowed this one from Stephen King’s The Shining. It’s one …