Poetry Blogs (2019, Though I've never been much for wine)

trains crossing blacked out streets 
mournful howls , stark in the slick obsidian
of deadened stories, and hardened hearts
a thousand miles of ire cast in cooling: 
the warmth of bodies wistful for sleep backed 
by a hapless sliver of ivory 
mists roiling up and up like a damp collective sigh
frozen by shock
in time. 

and in time all things lose their pallor 
their color 
desaturated ...

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